An Intergalactic Road Trip
by queen.andromeda
Summary: *MAJOR ENDGAME SPOILERS* Due to a string of conincidences during the time heist in 2012, Loki manages to teleport away with the Tesseract. Cue a life of travelling around the universe making trouble, messing with the timeline, and creating chaos - but trouble (and Thanos) is inevitable, one way or another.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**New York City – May 4, 2012 **

Loki pulled himself forward, shaking hands grasping for leverage on the ruined floor, palm pressing uncomfortably against the edge of steel flooring as he braced himself on his forearms. He took in a shuddering gasp of air and closed his eyes against the throbbing blue headache building along his temples. Defeat—"you will long for something sweet as pain," as if Loki had not already endured enough, been torn to shreds and stitched back together like a broken puppet, Thanos' manning the strings—was of no consequence.

"Not a great plan," Stark had said.

Oh, it was a brilliant plan. The Avengers will send both Loki and the Stones back to Asgard, where they will be defended and far from the Mad Titan's greedy scheming. Of course, having Midgard would have been nice, but Loki preferred to think on his feet. This new turn of events would set him up nicely. The faint, almost imperceptible twang of a bowstring being pulled taught met Loki's ears, barely audible over the sound of his own rapid heartbeat. Loki reeled back, weight shifted onto his elbows, and finds himself staring down the pointed shaft of a notched arrow.

The threatening forms of the Avengers, all prepared to lunge should Loki make a wrong move, eclipse the afternoon sun that filtered in through the shattered window. Loki blinked away the blood that stung against his eyes from a cut on his forehead and weighed his options. Escape? No chance, but if he can manage to get his hands on the Tesseract…. Bear the humiliation for the sake of his broader plan? Well…what more did he have to lose?

Loki sighed, inclining his head in acknowledgment of his position, and his lips hooked into a grim smile. "If it's all the same to you—" He broke off to grunt in pain before continuing in a slightly breathless voice. "—I'll have that drink now."

Only Stark seems amused by Loki's comment, perhaps because he is the only one who understood it. For a brief moment, Loki reached for his depleted seiðr, suppressing a snarl when it filtered like water through his grasp, having planned to take advantage of the distraction, but Stark's smile was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came. "Get him on his feet," Stark ordered.

_This must be what Midgardians call "karma."_

Thor, with all the delicacy and grace of a lumbering bilgesnipe, seized Loki by his shoulders and hoisted him to his unsteady feet, ignoring the way Loki's mouth tightened in a wince and the strangled noise that catches its barbs in his throat. Loki allowed himself to be shoved and prodded over to the bar area, where Thor wasted no time shackling his wrists together. Steve Rogers swept past importantly, hand on his intercom earpiece.

"On my way down to coordinate search and rescue," he said.

Loki decided to waste his magic being petty. Letting a faint green glow sweep up and down his body, he took on the guise of Captain America and parroted in a perfect impersonation, looking as self-righteous as possible, "On my way down to coordinate _search and rescue_." These cuffs do nothing to restrain seiðr?

…Good to know.

Shifting back, Loki found himself sporting a ragged grin again, truthfully having a great time. "I mean, _honestly_," he began, "how do you think it would be—"

"_Shut_ up," Thor broke in irritably. He slapped his free hand over Loki's jaw and from his touch sprung a constricting metal muzzle that snaked around Loki's head and stuck between his teeth, over his tongue, to silence his poison. Loki arched one eyebrow at Tony Stark's giggle and pulled back his Æsir glamor to reveal Jotun blue skin creeping up his knuckles, and as frost began to blacken and sparkle at his fingertips, Stark clamed up and resumed his pace.

Thor elbowed Loki's bruised, cracked ribs with more force than necessary, hissing, "Control yourself, Loki, before I do it for you."

_Ooh. Consider me intimidated_. Loki did not try to disguise his snort of mocking laughter as Thor led him by his chained wrists towards the elevator and nudged him inside. Had Thor not thought Loki would notice the care that is taken to assure he is blocked in on all sides, Stark and Thor in the front and SHIELD agents on all sides? If he wanted to leave, it would be all too easy—

The Hulk lumbered over towards the open lift doors. Loki's heart stuttered to a halt in his chest—that green could be gray and reptilian, the bare chest could be plated with orange and black armor, the heavy grunts and broken sentences could be that of Cull Obsidian's—the feeling of slamming into the floor, once, twice, thrice, bone giving away and head being split and not knowing which way was up and which was down—and he had to carefully blank his expression. Stark held out hand out placatingly.

"Whoa, hey. Maximum occupancy has been reached, take the stairs."

Thor pressed the button for the ground floor as Loki raised one shackled hand and waved, satisfied. As the doors slid closed, the Hulk surged forward—Loki reeled back, nearly tripping—and the steel bent under the force of an inhumanly powerful blow, metal cracking into the imprint of a fist. Gone. Loki exhaled through his nose, slowly, to avoid the sound of shuddering breath leaving his frantically aching chest. Nothing to fear.

The group stood in uncomfortable silence, no one daring to move, except for the guard to Loki's left, who seemed to take pleasure in stepping on Loki's boots, jabbing at his sides, crowding him closer to Thor. He stopped when Loki side-eyed him, gaze narrowed dangerously, irises bright and pupils cut into slits like a snake's. When the elevator finally opened, signaling their arrival, Thor and Stark took the lead, Loki mirroring their steps towards the glass front doors. SHIELD personnel parted to let them through, some regarding Loki with curiosity and others with apprehension. Loki held his head high and met no one's stares.

No matter that day's outcome, Loki was a _king_.

Loki walked on, hands resolutely at his sides, wondering if he should have left when he had the chance. But up ahead, walking towards Stark is another posse of SHIELD agents headed by a dour-looking man who has trouble dogging in his wake, and Loki grinned beneath his muzzle. Here comes entertainment.

"May I ask you where you're going?"

"Lunch, and then Asgard," Thor said. "And, I'm sorry," he continued, not sounding at all sorry, "you are...?"

Stark was the one to answer. "Alexander Pierce, Secretary. He's the man above the folks behind Nick Fury."

"My friends call me Mister Secretary," replied Pierce, matching Thor's tone. Loki coughed out a chuckle. "I'm going to have to ask you to turn that prisoner over to me."

_That prisoner_. A mortal wanting to lead him like a lamb to the slaughter. Unlikely. Loki bristled, hackles raised, nostrils flared, and brow taught in a snarl, his height and aggressive posture sending the guards flanking him a step backward. Thor jumped in before Loki had a chance to decide where Pierce's head could best be used as décor.

"Loki will be answering to Odin himself."

At this, Loki rolled his eyes and jerked his head bitterly. There is no answering. The merciful Allfather will never remove the Norns cursed muzzle to give Loki the chance at a proper trial.

Pierce seemed to disagree as well, but his reasoning almost made Loki laugh aloud. "Oh, he's going to answer to us. Odin can have what's left, and I'm going to need that case. It's been SHIELD property for over seventy years. "

The Tesseract? _Try to claim it_, Loki thought, fuming. _Take it, wait about five years, and do not be shocked when Thanos himself is knocking on your meager planet's undefended door._ Pierce's men descended on Stark, vultures diving for prey, and a scuffle for the case breaks out, Stark never once letting go. Loki allowed the Midgardians to fight and watched, silently betting on Stark. For a drunk, Stark had a mean swing.

Loki almost grimaced when Thor shoved an agent so hard the poor Midgardian fell flat on his back. I feel you, he tried to signal with a sympathetic yet sarcastic twist of his eyebrows. Stark snatched the briefcase back. Perhaps it would have devolved further, but at that moment, Stark suddenly gaped like a fish, body going rigid, and he collapsed into an undignified heap at Pierce's feet.

Well.

That was anticlimactic.

The briefcase laid unclaimed on the floor as everyone suddenly crowded Stark, moths drawn to a mildly interesting flame, and Loki considered reaching out for the Tesseract. Impossible, he would surely be noticed. If he leaves a double and cloaks himself—

An unseen force knocked the case halfway across the room. Loki followed the abrupt movement with his head, face pinched in confusion. How…? Another magic user? An invisible rope? He is shaken from his musing when another guard snatched up the briefcase and began to strut towards the stairs, moving all too quickly to blend in.

_Oh, I don't think so._

Loki threw a net of his dwindling seiðr towards the stairs. The Hulk is on the sixteenth floor, thundering clumsily down, and Loki clawed his fingers out and pushed inwards. The results were instantaneous: the Hulk burst from the door that connected the ground floor stairs to the main level, sending the thief crashing to the ground and the case spinning away. The latches popped open and the Tesseract itself slid right to Loki, thumping against the toe of his boot. Loki's eyes lit up.

This was even better than he had been hoping for.

With a glance up to ensure that Thor is still preoccupied, Loki stooped and grabbed the Tesseract, holding it delicately as he straightened. No one had even checked on him—imbeciles. Now…where to go? Loki pondered a moment: Asgard is a sure prison sentence, Thanos is a death sentence, and anywhere on Midgard is just idiocy. He supposed he should decide quickly before the Midgardians and Thor notice what he was up to.

Hmm. Loki could go for the aforementioned drink he had been promised. And the best place for a drink—

The power of the Space Stone tugged him by the small of his back and he vanished in a cloud of gray and blue smoke, the smell of ozone stinging the air he left behind. Loki was not there to hear Thor's calls turn from an angry, "_Loki_!" to a desperate, "Brother?" Loki was not there for the ensuing manhunt. Loki was not there to watch the future versions of Stark, Rogers, and the man who had kicked the briefcase, Scott Lang, argue about their next move.

By the time the Avengers found a solution, Loki was nursing a Daiquiri, glass hanging casually between his index and middle finger, and sliding his bet across the table of a small Sakaar City bar, the Tesseract disguised as a thin, gold chain necklace.

He would like to see Thanos try and find him here.

* * *

I intend to continue this, but I dunno when I'll get around to it, honestly. But I hope you like it nevertheless!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Capitol of Berhert – October 19, 2013**

Loki opened his door to find Ebony Maw on the other side. Before he could speak, fight back, scream for _his brother_ or _his mother_ or _anyone_ to help, _please_, the other sorcerer had him pinned against the back wall with red hot chains of magic that bound his seiðr and scorched his fingers when he reached for his magic. He could not find the air to cry out, to beg, because pain is not something one forgot so quickly—gods bled easy, gods broke easy, _no one_ was safe—Thor, please, _please_—faced with Maw's cruel grin, sharpened white teeth stark and bright against dark, rough skin. His view was full of Cull Obsidian's hulking figure (Hulk, his head cracking against cement, his ribs snapping like taught strings, lying in the rubble with metallic blood bubbling on his tongue) and Maw, his worst nightmares come true.

"Thought you could hide from our father, did you?" Maw sneered. His pointed nails trace a slow arc against the line of Loki's throat.

_Our father_—the Mad Titan, Loki tried to think the name but the blue that had slammed back into his mind, stealing his voice and all his thoughts except for _not again, not again, I can't, not again_—_don't take me back_—

Maw's spidery fingers curled around Loki's neck as if to wring it, choke the life from him, and Loki's hands flew to claw at Maw's hold, the need to breathe overpowering him. The grip tightened, darkness blinded Loki—

_Oh, gods, I want my Mother—_

Loki awoke in a rush of fear and a choked sob. He laid there for a moment, or perhaps hours, and tried to catch the breath that stuttered and locked in his chest, grasping at his collar, certain he would have felt something restricting the flow of oxygen. All that his fingers brushed was bare skin. His mind, his twisted, deformed, ruined mind had made him—played tricks on—he could not shake the _panic_.

He could not rise from where he was sprawled atop his bed, sheets wrapped like kudzu around his legs, his hysteria leaving him utterly spent. _I am a god_, he had once said with pride. _I am useless, a sniveling coward_, he thought. Loki pressed his palms into his eyes—if he goes blind, will the image of Ebony Maw's grin leave, will Thanos' malicious face go away? Loki dropped his head into his pillow and moaned.

This was what Thanos had reduced him to. A weakling who cried at figments of his imagination and begged for his mother when confronted by specters of his past.

Loki forced himself to get on with his day. They are numbered, after all.

He had not eaten in weeks. There was no need to, nor the time to. He moved whenever he felt the itch to leave, to find a new place to hide. Pathetic, he knew. An embarrassment, running and running, as if that would have stopped the inevitable. He occupied himself by bringing chaos with him, his presence as much a bad omen as ever. Perhaps it attracted attention, but he would lose what little sanity he had left by locking himself away.

_Dread it, run from it. Thanos will arrive._

The room swayed and spun dangerously when Loki finally mustered the will to stand and he steadied himself with one shaking hand braced on his bedpost. Overreaction, calm down, he chided himself and took another step toward the back door. He hissed through his teeth and pushed onwards.

…What sort of trouble will he cause today?

* * *

"Hey, get back here!"

Loki vaulted over the cluster of mead barrels, knocking some over along the way for good measure. Hearing the sounds of crashing and chaos in his wake, Loki took his prizes—a golden prosthetic arm, two Kree battle axes, and a box that screamed and erupted hands from its inside when opened—and shoved them in his dimensional pocket before he used one of his daggers as a zip line trolley and slid halfway down a clothesline that hung between two neighboring apartments. Just when he was going to crash into the opposite wall, Loki's form shimmered and compressed into that of a sleek-bodied raven. He took flight, spiraling and looping away from the busy city, cawing his victory loud and wild.

What, did anyone really expect Loki to quietly hide in the countryside and become a paranoid busybody? Well, he was doing his fair share of hiding, but...

Where was the fun in that?

No, no, _no_. Some god of mischief he would make, packing up his things and cowering on a farm to lick his wounds. Loki was currently terrorizing every planet he came across, each new world coming with a new name and a new coat of paint: Vrellnes— Skadi Frijason, a graffiti artist who doodled over the sides of public buildings and used magic to make the art come to life in the center of the city; Sszardil—Loptr Freason, casino owner who made millions of units scamming people with impossible games; Interdis—Hveðrungr, leader of a successful coup against the monarchy. His work on Berhert, his most recent haunt, consisted of selling off stolen artifacts. There was a high correlation between his restlessness and the severity of his misdeeds, but Loki would rather have occupied himself with those petty crimes rather than the murderous inklings the Other pushed into his mind on a daily basis.

Was Loki terrified? Absolutely. Terrified of what was to come and anger at what had been and saddened at what he had been forced to stoop to in order to survive. But, at least for the moment, this was as good as his life would get. He might as well run wild and free and reckless before Thanos caught up to him and there was nowhere to go, nothing that could save Loki from the mess he had made.

Loki, still in the shape of a large raven, settled down on a rooftop that overlooked the capitol city of Berhert and watched for a moment. The shopkeeper whose items he had borrowed without the intent to return them—stealing, one could call it—was racing up and down the street, spinning people around and checking down every alleyway. With a shuffling adjustment of Loki's feathers, the man suddenly began spouting in Midgardian Polish. A self-satisfied preen and a squawk of laughter and Loki was off, vanishing mid-takeoff in the blue and black smoke of the Space Stone—

—and reappearing in his vending booth in the capitol's town square.

Loki, as a well-practiced seiðmaðr, had perfected the art of vanishing in plain sight long ago: hiding from Heimdall's omnipotent gaze, blending in masterfully with a crowd, able to change his name and life story easy as breathing. It was no wonder that not even Thanos had detected him yet, as although the Tesseract radiated powerful, distinctive energy, in the right hands—in _Loki's_ hands—it was still imperceptible. Hopping from planet to planet, galaxy to galaxy on a monthly basis was particularly exhausting, but it was worth it to not allow himself nor the Stone to fall into the Mad Titan's grasp. His current guise was that of Kravo, a traveling Skrull who had, unfortunately, been the lone survivor following a brutal attack by the Kree and was forced to make his living as a merchant.

He had set up shop on Berhert, a relatively quiet planet. Kitson had been a bit much, even for Loki's most unsavory moods, and he had been wanted to relax, even if only for a few weeks. Loki kept a journal of both details about his fabricated origins and a list of potential threats, do-gooders looking to drop him at the mercy of his _loving_ family or bounty hunters wanting a quick paycheck for his capture and shipment to Asgard. Listening in for news on Thanos is a daily stressor, as is straining to catch any whispers of his real name, but he has heard nothing urgent or concerning.

Because nowhere was safe.

Loki was doing well for himself, amassing enough money to support his habit of drinking and one-night stays. No one had come after him.

Things were going well.

_…Too well. _

And, just his luck, as he was lounging with his feet propped up on his vending booth in the town square, Loki had noticed an approaching woman before she was within five meters of his station.

This could be interesting.

She was very obviously trying not to attract unwanted attention, keeping her head low enough to let her curtain of blonde hair hide her features, and was making a show of looking anywhere except Loki's general direction. Despite her casual clothing and relaxed posture, her steps were deliberate and certain. He should not have feared her but, already on edge, he found himself apprehensive to even initiate a dialogue.

"Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?" he called smoothly.

The woman startled, surprised he had been able to notice her rouse. Then her confidence returned. "It's nothing," she replied. In an attempt at appearing aloof, she leaned over his counter on her elbows. He could not help but notice how she hid her hands, a subtle sign of aggression. "Just wondering why a Skrull is so far from home."

Loki shook his head. "I'm afraid I have no home. My family and our small group of companions were attacked many years ago. I was the only one left, with nowhere to go," he choked, forcing his voice to falter in his throat. The bluff is not difficult (nowhere to go, no family, why did saying that hurt?). "I make my living as a merchant. Can I interest you in anything?"

He could almost see the gears turning in her mind, working out whether to trust him or not. "That's funny," she finally said, "because according to _this _reading"—she tapped at a small device on her wrist; a Skrull detector, it seemed to be—"you're not a Skrull. I'm going to need to know who you really are."

_Oh_.

That…was an interesting turn of events.

A challenge. Loki's grin was sharp around the edges, his sharpened Skrull canines making the gesture all the more intimidating.

"If you intend to threaten me, you're making a lethal error, Miss Danvers."

Loki took great satisfaction in the twist of shock on her face. He was prepared for anyone who might seek him out, and this _girl_—a Midgardian blessed with the true powers of the Tesseract, transformed to be stronger than even the great Kree armies—was one of those on his radar. Last he had heard of Carol Danvers, she had been escorting the Skrulls to a new home, believing them to be innocent of their accused crimes. A hero in every sense of the word.

She reminded him so much of Thor that he felt sickened.

Loki paused to survey the landscape. In front of his booth is a narrow strip of road. If she started something with him, he would take the fight behind, to the town square. Vanish into the crowd. Use the Tesseract to leave the planet. Never, never use the Space Stone in battle. Use drew attention.

Danvers leaned closer to him, to which he made no move to shift away. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"And you won't." Now, Loki turned his back on her. "I assume you will try to force me to drop my disguise by using force. Let me step out first, it's terribly crowded in here—"

Loki was anticipating her strike. Quicker than Thor's lightning, Loki caught her fist and twisted her wrist towards her body, bending the joint painfully. He opened his mouth to speak, to taunt her predictability, but he was not at all ready for her eyes to begin glowing gold. Power with the force of a blow from Mjolnir sent him hurling backward, through the wooden back of his booth and into the busy market square. Irritation buzzed in his ears as he moaned, pushing himself to his knees—a few passersby rushed to help him stand, hooking their arms under his and righting him. One man had moved to block Danvers' forward momentum, but she easily pushed past him.

"Who are you really?" she spat. Loki faced her without fear—_screw it_, he thought, _I'll be out of here within fifteen minutes, one glimpse can't hurt, I'm going to die soon anyway_—and jerked back his illusion.

The green skin flaked away, revealing pale flesh underneath. Pointed ears shrank and hair sprouted and spiked away from his forehead, inky black strands falling to frame a rapidly smoothing face. Dark eyes lightened and swirled into green as his legs and spine lengthen, giving his height an extra six inches. A familiar green-and-gold outfit took shape. Cloak billowing around his ankles, Loki stepped forward menacingly and flexed his fingers, brushing back his hair. As his hands slicked past his ears, pushing stray curls from his eyes, his horned helmet shimmered into place—as his arms dropped to his sides, his cape rippled and whipped into place—as his hands spun, palms up, knives glinted between his spindly fingers.

His show over, Loki bowed low and inclined his head, the gesture both respectful—she did _just_ blast him through a wall—and mocking. "Loki, Prince of Asgard," he introduced. "God of Mischief. At your service, my lady."

Danvers matched his stance, her hands spread wide apart and feet braced. Slowly, they began to circle one another like two dogs sizing one another up, one a back-alley mutt and one a trained Rottweiler.

"Loki of Asgard," Danvers spoke up, clearly hoping to break his concentration, "or Loki, son of Thanos?"

Loki truthfully had not been expecting that. Danvers used the falter in his stalk to lunge forward—before her fist can connect, he disappeared in a wash of green and flickered back into view behind her, sweeping her off her feet with a well-timed trip, just as her center of balance has shifted for her to try and turn around. He would have pinned her, had she not given him a face full of fire and then kicked him away. Teleporting away before she can do any more damage, he reappeared several feet away and quickly stitched together an illusion. As Danvers started to fight her way through what looked to her like Chitauri—but looked like balloon animals to the amassing crowd—Loki built up another disguise.

Red hair, freckles, brown eyes, four inches off the height, plain street clothes.

Then, like a drop of water sinking into an ocean, Loki was swallowed up by the throng.

Loki was almost in the clear, alone and out of sight to use the Tesseract, which is disguised as a wedding band on his finger, when he heard something crash behind him. He sighed heavily.

"Your type doesn't know when to quit, do they?" he hissed. Turning, he found Danvers behind him, slightly disheveled and panting.

"I know you attacked Earth. I know Thanos sent you. And I know what you're carrying."

_The Tesseract._

Loki carefully kept himself from fidgeting with the ring. Danvers came a bit closer, unthreatening.

"It gave me my powers," she explained. "I'm tied to it. I know what it can do. It's not safe for anyone, much less a madman."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Loki stepped forward to meet her halfway. "Mad? Oh, no. A madman would have given it to the Mad Titan," he shot back, his voice catching on Thanos' moniker. As if saying the name would summon him, and perhaps it will. "It's been a pleasure, but I'm leaving."

Danvers smiled. "You don't have to go. Thanos has been on my list for a long time. Come with me, and we'll take care of him together."

_Kill Thanos?_

Was that possible?

She wanted him to come with her?

A trick. A plan to take the Tesseract and deposit him on Asgard. If she has the Tesseract, he cannot protect it, keep it safe. He cannot hold its power.

_Liar. _

"I'll just find you again," she said in response to his silence.

Loki grinned. "I doubt that."

"Maybe I won't have to find you," he heard her continue, "because you're coming with me."

He had not even drawn breathe to ask her what made her think he would do anything she asked willingly when she punched the lights from his eyes and he fell into darkness.

* * *

Thanks for the great response! Honestly, I was scared to post because I didn't think you all would be satisfied. If you don't like this chapter, please let me know! I'll delete it and immediately start on a rewrite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Two Jump Points Out of Berhert – October 21, 2013**

Loki's brow tightened and his lips parted to sigh out a breath as he came to. His head pounded to the rhythm of music somewhere to his right, a high, strumming sound he had never heard before. The voice, however, he recognized.

"_Down in the playground, the hot concrete; bus ride is too slow, they blast out the disco on the radio_…."

He shifted onto his side to see Danvers singing in a soft yet upbeat voice, an unfamiliar stringed instrument propped in her lap, which seemed to be the source of the noise. "_Rock-rock, Rockaway Beach_," she continued, not seeming to notice that her disgruntled passenger had started to stir. "_We can hitch a ride to Rockaway Beach_—"

"Could you _shut_ that infernal thing up?" Loki cut in sharply.

The result is immediate: the song stopped, but not before Danvers deliberately plucked the strings to make the note drop in a shriek, and she propped her instrument against the side of the ship. "You finally decided to get up?"

"So sorry to have kept you waiting, my lady," Loki deadpanned. He threw the quilt that had been covering him onto the floor and sat up, back against an outcrop on the wall. "You have five minutes to tell me where you're taking me, why you're taking me, and why I shouldn't blast a hole through this ship."

Danvers grinned crookedly and propped her feet up across the gap between them on Loki's cot. He pushed her away childishly. "I'm taking you so we can kill Thanos."

"That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my thousand plus years, but okay."

"I'm not finished," she cut in, voice pitched as if explaining something simple to a child. "Like I told you, he's been on my threat list for a while. Recently, he just decimated the Skrulls I spent so long trying to protect—which is part of the reason why I knew you weren't one. Call that my inciting incident."

Oh.

_I'm sorry_, got stuck in his throat. _If the portal stayed open, if no one had closed it…_

_…that would have been Midgard. That would have been _my_ fault._

He swallowed as she continued, her grief sharpening to rage.

"And second, I'm taking you because of what you're carrying. I figured just taking all of you was better than trying to mug you. Besides, you seem like an asset: you've got a grudge, and you're a fighter."

Loki's smile is painful and thin-lipped. He wanted no part of this. He wanted to teleport away, but between the motion of the ship and the space around them, the necessary calculations were impossible to pull off, a safe journey impossible to make.

"Third," Danvers said, running her thumbnail along the ridges of her boots, "I think you know that busting the ship will probably kill you, too. And if it doesn't, I'm more than prepared to handle you."

Loki does not like any of her plan. The last thing he wanted was to be face to face with Thanos—Ebony Maw, talons hooked into his brain, pulling out information and shoving in whispers of hatred and half-truths; promised his freedom if he could best Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight in combat, and each time, crippled by his wounds and badly outnumbered, he was beaten mercilessly into the dirt; being handed off from Nebula to Cull Obsidian, who strung Loki up on the ceiling and used him as a punching bag; first spitting at Gamora that _his family will come for him,_ _he had done them wrong but they will come_, and then begging Gamora to _help him, please help him, because no one else can_. At the same time…he was tired of running. He needed to rest.

Then, he would plan his next move.

"Fine," Loki decided in a strained voice. "Say I cooperate and go to kill Thanos with you. How do you plan on doing that?"

"By collecting Infinity Stones."

"…I thought this couldn't get any more ridiculous. I _just_ told you that you broke the record for the most stupid thing I've ever heard, and you already want to top that. Kill—kill the _Mad Titan_ with the _Stones_? By collecting them, we're making ourselves more of a target. We're doing his work _for_ him."

Danvers wagged her finger. "Thanos can't take the Stones from us if he never knows what we're doing."

Loki pressed his hands to his face and moaned into his palms. The loophole was so obvious, would be so convenient if it worked—but Danvers had a point. If they stayed under the radar, they would catch Thanos by surprise. It should not be able to work, and yet….

A flicker of blue pushed a thought into his mind: take the Stones for himself. Odin could not love Thor more once Loki has the entire universe at his whim, Thanos could not threaten him again—"You will all _fall_ before me!"—blue, blue, _blue_. He grinned devilishly.

"When do we start?"

* * *

**November 12**

"_She's got eyes of the bluest skies, as if they thought of rain—I hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain_!"

Loki slid his red draw two card across the floor and Danvers scowled mid-verse, much to Loki's delight. Her fingers skittered on the guitar's string as she paused to toss a four of the same color into the growing pile before she continued, "_Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place where as a child I'd hide_—" The line faded out and she paused to let Loki finish the lyrics. Begrudgingly, he did.

"_And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by_." Loki hit her with a plus four and cackled at the frustration that flitted across her features. The song wailed to a sudden halt, making Loki wince—payback.

"Okay, you have to be cheating," Danvers complained.

"Why must you assume the worst of me?" Loki retaliated, wounded. With a slight of his hand, his hand's colors rippled and turned blue. Wild card, blue three. Blue six. Blue, draw two. Blue eight. Blue one—Loki's fourth win.

Danvers tossed her cards at him. "I give up with games. You're just going to keep cheating." Despite the harsh words, her eyes are bright with laughter and she seemed to be a fighting a losing battle not to smile.

Loki had originally stayed only because he was trapped—teleporting was impossible, world-walking was too risky—but…she reminded him of Thor. Brash and easily irritated, yes, with all of Thor's charm, goofiness and lack of common sense included. He flopped back onto the floor, using magic to stack the cards neatly and deposit them in the box next to Danvers' side of the ship. While Danvers curled up onto her makeshift bed, Loki began tapping spoons together against his thigh in a simple beat.

Thus started a new game: ask increasingly personal questions for the sake of irritating Danvers.

"Where did you get a ship? I thought you said you could fly.'

"I can. I've had it for years in storage. You never know when you'll need a ride."

"How did you know I was once Thanos' son?"

"Your reputation proceeds you."

"Why—"

"Is this seriously how you're passing time now? I've told you all of this before."

"I'll take suggestions, my lady."

Danvers exhaled through her teeth and moved to plop down in the piolet's chair, pointedly ignoring him. The spoons vanished from Loki's hands as boredom set in.

He sighed. Then again, but louder. Then yet again, just to see how loud he could go.

She snapped after the sixth repetition. "Shut up already."

Loki laid on the floor quietly before getting frustrated and pulling himself onto his bed. When all else failed, sleep was a good backup plan.

He was dozing off when yellow light filtered through his closed eyelids, jostling him into consciousness. The presence, the magic, was so like his own that he immediately recognized to whom it must have belonged. Opening his eyes, his fear was confirmed: Frigga was before him, watching him with that gaze of hers that somehow soothed him and made him itch all at once.

Loki's heart skipped to a halt in his chest as it called 'mother, my mother' and betrayed his head that insisted 'nothing, nothing but my torturer.' He found the strength to fight back his tears. She was still watching him.

"M…my queen," said Loki, dropping to one knee with his arm locked over his chest and his head bowed toward the floor. There was hesitance from Frigga, seemingly unsure of how to react at Loki's instant submission.

Frigga finally found her voice. "Rise, little one," she murmured. "A son does not kneel before his mother. I should be the one begging forgiveness for my shortcomings." Her hand cupped beneath his chin and swept to his cheek, brushing away stray locks of hair, a familiar gesture that startled Loki into motion. She smiled, the edges warm and soft and loving.

Loki pulled back as though he had been burned, but before the stab of guilt at her hurt expression can set in, he heard Danvers shuffle in the piolet's seat behind him. It took all of four seconds for her to be on her feet, palms ablaze and stance wide for battle.

"Loki," Danvers started, a warning in her voice, "who exactly is this?"

He stood defensively in front of his queen, body shielding her, hands spread out—surrender. "Not a threat," he reassured. "This is Queen Frigga of Asgard, Allmother and consort to Odin Allfather. My queen, this is Captain Carol Danvers."

Danvers paused. She shook out her fingers, light dissipating and offered a tight smile. "Sorry, ma'am. Just being careful." The look she sent in Loki's direction was one of confusion, but he tipped his head and shrugged. _I'll explain later._

"Well met, Captain Carol Danvers. Just Frigga, if you'd please." Frigga shifted to stand beside Loki. "I am Loki's mother."

"Adopted," he muttered.

"As fun as I imagine this debate will be, little one, I'm afraid that I come with urgent news from Asgard."

Wrong thing to say.

Loki wasted no time dropping back onto his blankets. He turned his head away from her to stare out the window into the vast abyss of space, the darkness sending chills up his spine. "And _I'm_ afraid I can't help you, your majesty. I've cared nothing for Asgard for a few years, and your sentiment is a tad overdue."

"Loki." The hard edge in her tone almost made him face her. _Almost_. "The Aether is on Asgard and Malekith is no doubt on his way. You can leave your brother and I to die or you can help extract the Stone by showing Thor the hidden pathway he needs."

Thor was on Asgard. Thor was in danger.

He tried to tell himself he could not care less. He had always been a talented liar to everyone except himself.

Frigga might die.

When did he get so lousy at lying?

Danvers spoke up, breaking the tense silence. "We're in."

"No 'we're,'" Loki cut in. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"But you were going to," Danvers shot back.

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"No, I—"

"I'll set the coordinates in your system," Frigga interrupted sternly. "It should take six hours, dependent on whether or not you run into trouble on the way there."

Loki huffed a breath out of his nose, covering his eyes with the back of his hand dramatically. "If I get tossed into jail upon arrival, I'm committing murder. _Again_."

"I'm sure you will," said Frigga pacifyingly. She planted a gentle kiss on Loki's crown before being whisked away in a flash of gold, gone as quickly as she came.

Turning to fix Danvers in a glare, Loki scowled. "Hope you're happy. I don't know why you agreed to this anyway."

Danvers grinned. "Because it's the right thing to do. If you whine, I'll say you kidnapped me and make sure they put you in prison."

"I hate you."

"So you've said."

* * *

One last update before finals. Yes, they're playing Uno; yes, Carol plays electric guitar; yes, Loki was playing the spoons. I'm moving more toward Loki's Ragnarok characterization, where he's got some issues but he's kind of a goof. Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter is where the major AU starts!


	4. Chapter 4

This was supposed to come out on Sunday, but I couldn't stand waiting any longer. Ch 5 should be out on the 17th!

Warnings: death, violence - nothing too overwhelming, but this isn't a very light-hearted chapter

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Asgard – November 12, 2013**

"So, this is Asgard?" Danvers said, bewildered. "I, uh…I thought it would be nicer."

"How _embarrassing_. Well, usually it's not on fire," clarified Loki in a dry voice. "Apologies for the mess, which, for once, is no fault of mine."

Danvers' serious façade splintered under Loki's wry grin and she caved into her laughter without restraint. The light moment was much obliged, although it did nothing to dissolve the anxious knot tangling in Loki's stomach like a deadweight. Their ship was hovering just outside of Asgard's borders, a spot where they had a perfect view of the Dark Elf crafts bombarding the palace's forcefields and could see the invading army storming the Bifröst—trees alight with flames, smoke turning the pale blue sky black. Loki breathed out slowly, steeling his nerves.

He needed the Reality Stone. He needed to save his people. He needed to save his mother.

Remnants of blue whispered into his ear, "Take it and leave them. They left you in the Void, leave them. Leave them, come to me. Bring the Stone to me. _Bring it to me_ _and I'll let you live_—"

"Fly us down," Loki decided. "First, we evacuate the civilians. I'll send them to a safe house with the Space Stone, and while I'm busy with that, I need you to secure the perimeter. I imagine you can handle that."

Danvers shrugged one shoulder, feigning calmness, but the sparks at her fingertips betrayed her excitement. "Sounds simple enough. Hold on, I'd hate to drop you."

"I'm touched by the concern, my lady, truly. Would you weep for me? Build me a statue, with my horns—"

"I'd cry for _myself_ because I had to put up with you in the first place."

"Oh, _no_. It must be _so_ hard for you. It isn't as though _you're_ the one who brought me here. Brief lapses in judgment have dire consequences, you know."

Danvers rolled her eyes, her head lolling back in exaggerated agitation, and shoved Loki from where he was casually sprawled in the co-pilot's chair. She pushed the button to open the ship's back door with more force than necessary, jabbing him toward it, fussing for him to stop dragging his feet. Loki, intentionally, walked with slow robotic steps until he reached the door, which had swung fully open to reveal the vastness of space behind them. He wet his lips and clamped down on his nerves—he was not going to fall.

His family was waiting for him. _Family_…a word he had not used in a long time. Breath left him in the form of a short huff. _Family_.

Loki let Danvers take him by his waist. "Don't slip," she teased.

He managed a shaky grin. "Right."

With that, they were off in a streak of golden sparks, fire flowing around them like the tail of a comet, trailing in the wake of their descent. Loki kept himself focused on the feeling of longing building in his chest, the memory of Thor holding him daintily and rocketing off into the blue sky, spinning and dodging lightning, riding the wind reckless and carefree. He missed that. He missed _Thor_, he realized.

Danvers wove past a Dark Elf fleet and soared over the rainbow bridge easily. Loki crushed the sentiment down. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. She threw him up in the air, then caught him under his arms to place him on the stone ground that led into the city of Asgard. He flared out his hands, twin knives suddenly appearing between his fingers.

Loki flipped his daggers. "Go ahead. I'll be done shortly."

She nodded and looped midair, cutting across the bright sky back toward the invading army. Loki watched her go. He almost wished she had stayed—then he would not be forced to face his people all alone. Would they be glad to see him? Had they missed him?

Had Thor lied when he said Loki had been mourned?

Loki took a step into the ash-covered streets, his pace leading him through the ruins of buildings and the rubble of grand monuments. He faltered when he came to a body—stooping beside it and allowing his weapons to vanish, his fingers found no pulse nor breath.

"I bid you take your place among the fallen in the halls of Valhalla," he whispered, voice snatched away by the breeze as the closed the man's eyes with a shaking hand.

He pushed through a broken wall and into a wooden house whose roof had been burned to dust. A woman laid with her hand splayed over her mouth, motionless—Loki swept a streak of dirt from her pale face and a crown woven of golden primroses and white water rose lilies sprung over her hair at his touch.

"…Where thine enemies have been vanquished—"

Loki continued his funeral march, ducking under archways that had been reduced to rubble, snuffling out fires as he went. Before him were a group of soldiers, forgotten in a mountain of broken stone and ruins. He freed them from their prison with a wave of his hand and paced a circle around them, glittering thistles and leaves growing from cracks in the ground in the shadow of his footfalls.

"—where the brave shall live forever…"

He turned the corner and restored homes with a slight of his hand, ashes melting away in the wind, corpses uncovered and carefully rearranged with hands crossed over their chests peacefully—his eyes stung and the back of his throat burned. It was not from the smoke. A sigh escaped him as he dragged his fingers through his hair.

"…nor shall we mourn, but rejoice for those who have died the…the…"

Loki's voice stuttered and died on his tongue. Standing in the middle of the square, huddled together, were upwards of three thousand Æsir—women, children, surrounded by a few stray soldiers. A young girl was the first one to see him emerging from the wreckage, sunlight glinting off his armor and golden helmet, wreathed in rolling smoke like a spirit, flowers visibly sprouting behind him. Her face split into a grin.

"Amma!" she shrieked. "Amma, it's Prince Loki! Look, _look_!"

The group turned in near perfect unison to face him and fixed him in place with wide-eyed, disbelieving stares. Loki shifted nervously. What if they would not want him? What if they would rather die than accept his help? As the silence stretched longer, seemingly lasting a century, his only thought was, _I never should have come_. He was just about to leave when—

The crowd suddenly roared and rushed him, surrounding him and shouting welcomes.

"Prince Loki is alive!"

"He's come to save us!"

"Welcome home!"

"Is he taking us somewhere safe?"

Loki was overwhelmed, unable to move forward or backward. He grimaced and held up a hand for quiet. The din settled down, the children swarming him and pulling at his cape stilling, the panic dissipating slightly.

"I apologize for my tardiness," he said, just loud enough to be heard. "I wish I had been here sooner. Yes, I'm here to get you all to a safehouse—families, try and stay together."

They all back away as the Tesseract shimmered into Loki's hands.

"Take it for yourself and leave," hissed the blue. He ignored it.

Loki felt the tug of the Space Stone's power, smelt the faint scent of ozone and gunpowder, heard its ghostly whisper, felt the smooth glass-like texture of its cube. The familiarity eased him and he opened a portal to the mountain bunker with no trouble. A cloud of blue and black, shimmering and swirling, flared to life before the Æsir. He faced them, this time without fear.

"You will be safe here. I swear it."

Hesitance set in, but Loki was not having it.

"Go on. I'll retrieve you when trouble has passed."

Slowly, nervously, the people began to file into the portal, vanishing from sight in shards of sapphire light. Loki watched them go, knives in hand to defend them if any Dark Elves crawled from the rubble. It took an eternity for all of the survivors to get through, and Loki was so occupied with standing guard that he did not notice the little girl from before approaching him until he felt her grasp onto his lower legs in a hug.

He jumped and stiffened, but she was smiling up at him, no trace of anxiety in her elated features.

"Thank you, Prince Loki," she chirped. "Will you be here when we get back?"

Ugh. He had _no_ idea how to talk to children.

Loki dropped to her level and held out one of Iðunn's treasured apples he had conjured from thin air. "Perhaps. I…I'm counting on you to keep everyone in line, little Valkyrie."

She giggled and raced to join her mother, leaving Loki, fortunately, alone.

…Maybe he was not as bad with children as he thought. The sudden softness he was displaying made him cringe.

Now, the palace.

Magic compressed his form and in a burst of feathers, he had transformed into a screeching falcon and taken to the sky. He passed Danvers just as she flew through a warship—he had _really_ underestimated her, that was kind of terrifying—and swooped on to her next target, leaving behind balls of flames as the marks of her destruction. Looping over her head, he gave a cry of greeting. She must have recognized the pitch-black plumage and piercing green eyes, for she offered a tiny wave before resuming her conquest. Loki circled the largest spire of the palace, casting his magic around in a frantic search.

Mother, Mother…_where_—?

There.

Loki folded his wings close to quicken his descent—he had found her, in her personal chambers, nonetheless. The discovery did nothing to quell his trepidation: why would she be hiding away? Was she hurt, or…or _worse_? He landed softly on the balcony and peered in apprehensively.

Frigga was pushing Thor's human behind her—shielding her from whoever had just entered the room—the air left Loki's lungs. Malekith, from the stories he had been told as a child. A boogeyman to Æsir young, a monster beneath the bed. It was as though a nightmare had walked into the ordinarily golden and sunny room, darkening the atmosphere and enforcing the gravity of this situation. His mother could die.

He had rolled over and let Thanos hurt him. He would not let anyone hurt his mother, not if he could stop them.

Loki summoned his courage. With a flash of green, he was back in his usual form, stalking in deliberately silent, cat-like steps into the room, veiled from sight by the use of magic. Daggers sprung into his palms and he took a step closer—

Frigga fought just like Loki, he realized, whirling with the swiftness of the wind, her short sword flashing at Malekith's neck, then his stomach, then his head—he was so concentrated on dodging her swipes that she landed a perfect elbow jab to his nose, snapping his head back, giving her an opening to pin him with her weapon against the artery of his throat. Loki almost backed off, certain his mother would take the killing blow, but the thud of new footsteps caught his ear. Malekith's berserker had come to back his leader up and was bearing down on Frigga, reaching for her vulnerable neck.

_I don't think so._

Loki let his knife slip into his fingers and flung it with frightening accuracy, one following the other—the blades sank into each of the beast's shoulders and it roared, reeling back with the force of the blows. Frigga spun around. She must have recognized those delicate handles, snakes carved into the quillons and the mark of Odin's house engraved into the pommels. Loki sent a blast of raw energy at Malekith. The magic scorched the side of his face, blackening the skin and making him collapse to the floor in pain.

"Loki?" Frigga said, as if unable to believe it.

Letting the illusion fall away, Loki appeared in front of his mother, more daggers in his hands, keeping the attackers at arm's length. He cast a smirk at her over his shoulder. "Hi, Mother. Need a hand?"

He did not allow himself the time to see her reaction. Snarling down at Malekith, he pressed Frigga further backward.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Loki spoke up suddenly.

From the corner of his eye, he had noticed Malekith's berserker (Kurse, if he recalled correctly) tossing Loki's daggers onto the floor and reaching to his belt to throw a grenade. The creature stood stock still as Malekith gathered himself to his feet, teeth bared and panting angrily.

"_Ergi_," he growled at Loki, who just smiled wordlessly.

_That was the best he could do?_ Loki had been hearing that one since the age of seven.

Malekith moved forward, but Loki conquered five knives to hover midair and surround his head, ready to stab at a moment's notice. Kurse glowered from the other side of the room, ready to lunge, but suddenly whirled toward the door. Loki tipped his head—something thudded from outside.

More Elves?

The door burst open and in came Thor, Mjölnir raised to shoulder height for a swing and crackling lightning along its steel surface. He took in Malekith, Kurse, Jane still huddled in the corner—then he saw Frigga, protected by Loki. His lip curled and the air grew sour with the smell of electricity. Loki was admittedly unwilling to fight, but he would not leave his mother unguarded.

Loki briefly met Thor's gaze before returning to his stare down with Malekith. "Brother," he murmured by way of greeting. Thor's grip on his hammer tightened audibly.

"Loki," he rumbled in a low voice. "Step away from my mother and call off whatever demon you have set upon the palace. I'll kill you if I must."

All right, _that_ hurt. Particularly since Loki did not quite understand why he was being treated so harshly. At the moment he took to falter, taken aback by Thor's hatred, Malekith batted away the knives and knocked Loki's arm out of the way, sending his dagger clattering to the ground. Loki ducked under Malekith's sword and, spreading his hands and sliding his little fingers past one another, transfigured the blade into a thread of string. Another gesture—palms pressed together, then hooking together the fingers of his left hand like a claw and pulling his hands apart—and there was a duplicate of Loki behind Malekith, tripping the Dark Elf and sending him crashing at Loki's feet. Thor seemed to be handling Kurse well—

Frigga rushed forward—

Malekith's sword stopped inches from Loki's thigh, where it surely would have struck the artery, as Frigga smashed her heel onto his hand. In one fluid motion, the queen seized Malekith by his long braid, wrenched his head back, and slit his throat ear-to-ear. Then she dropped him, letting him fall gracelessly. Loki released a breath he had not realized he had been holding.

One down. One more to go.

Kurse had Thor to the ground, Mjolnir too far for Thor to grab onto, and was punching him, landing blow after blow. Loki exchanged a sharp glance with Frigga and signaled silently to her—pointer finger crossed over his middle finger, thumb folded over his ring and little finger, which were bent against his palm—sweeping his hand out from his body twice.

Go right.

Frigga took up her sword and, moving as one with Loki, fanned out, vanishing the illusion of Jane behind her back. Kurse sensed them coming and turned, only to be met with Loki lunging forward viciously. The beast flung him aside easily but was caught off guard by Frigga slashing at his knees. The following stumble was an opportunity that Loki took without hesitation, driving his daggers toward the joint between Kurse's shoulder and arm—the Axillary artery, deadly if struck. Loki felt the creature catch him by the wrist, painfully arcing it backward until it gave away with a crack.

He barely paid it any mind, attacking with newfound fury using his left hand, blows no less precise. Frigga spun her sword to hit the backs of Kurse's knees—another lethal spot—while Thor pushed himself to his feet and kicked the monster off balance, sending him to the ground, the impact enough to shake the room. Loki finished it with a precise stab to the back of the neck, leaving his blade in as he panted.

He was _so_ out of practice.

A long pause came over the three, almost awkward. Loki winced as his magic snapped bone back into place and he flexed his wrist experimentally. Good as new. He swallowed. Now, the real battle.

Convincing Thor he was not a threat.

"Brother," Loki said. His voice snagged on the last syllable and the word faded into silence, so he swallowed and began anew. "Brother, I know you're angry with me. For this attack, and for Midgard. But I had nothing to do with _this_. I can explain everything later. Right now, the Aether takes priority."

Thor swiped blood from his nose aggressively, shaking it off, droplets landing on Kurse's body and adding to the sea of red.

_Red_.

Loki's stomach twisted.

"You will answer to Odin for what you did," Thor relinquished. "And you will call of whatever demon you set on the palace."

At that, Loki grinned. "Oh, Danvers. She'll stop once there are no Dark Elves in the sky, and she will not hurt anyone else."

Thor sputtered. "That's a _person_?"

"A Midgardian," Loki clarified. "She's spectacular. But, ah…don't tell I said that, she'll never let me live it down."

"I'm surprised you have patience for Midgardians," Thor replied coldly. "Last I saw you, you were bent on murdering them all."

"Thor!" Frigga interrupted. Loki shook his head.

"It's all right, Mother. I didn't mean to become involved with her, but she beat me up and then kidnapped me, so…not much of a choice."

Thor was opening his mouth to speak again when Loki brushed past him and out of the room.

"As I said," Loki called to them from ahead, "the Reality Stone is our priority. Where is it?"

Frigga took the lead down the staircase. Her jaw was set with determination, a quirk Loki recognized with a flare of affection. He had missed her so. "She was hidden in Thor's chambers. We must make haste—if Malekith got as far as my chambers, he may have found her as well."

A few stray Elves were still storming the halls, searching for surviving soldiers. Loki dispatched four, throwing two daggers from each hand, with clean hits between their eyes, while Frigga took care of the other three. Thor never broke his worried stride, leading them down ruined hall after ruined hall, taking turns and twists and anxiously calling for his mortal. Loki matched Thor's step, but something made him slow.

The Great Hall.

Adjacent to them, it had obviously taken the brunt of the attack: pillars were completely smashed, the empty skeleton of an invading ship remained, bodies strewn all across the room of Aesir and Elf alike. Thor shouted for Loki to keep up…but…

Something was not right.

Loki stepped over fallen men, weaving a path through the destruction. He avoided shards of stone, moved past abandoned shields. Frigga called out to him. The throne was right before him, dull in the dying rays of sunlight.

No.

He looked down.

Something rattled from below.

Loki fell to his knees.

Odin lay wounded, bleeding from his chest, shaking hands clasped over the injury. Loki quickly assessed the damage—it looked deadly—no, no, he would save him—

From Loki's fingers sparked weak magic as he cried out, "Mother! Someone, _help_! _Mother_!"

He grasped Odin's wrist with his right hand, finding a pulse, and used his left to try and conjure up something to heal the wound. Pressing onto Odin's chest, he winced at the old king's agonized exhale. "I know, I know—hold on—"

"Odin!" Frigga screamed. She was suddenly at Loki's side, holding onto her husband, Thor right behind her.

"Help him!" Thor demanded Loki, hammer leveled at his brother. His voice trembled. "If you don't—you _have_ to—"

"I _can't_!" Loki shouted back. Why did he even care? Why could he not breathe? Why— "I'm _trying_!"

Odin twined his fingers weakly with Frigga's and gave her a red-strained smile, though it was more of a quirk of his lips.

"_Don't go_—" Loki choked. "Don't—_please_—Father! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just wait—"

_Why did it hurt?_ He hated Odin, wanted to watch him suffer. Odin _stole_ him, _lied_ to him, looked down on him for so many years.

But when he looked down at the dying king, all he thought was, _Father. Father._

"Loki…," breathed Odin, ever-so-softly. "My son."

Loki could not form any words, could not speak, his silver tongue lead in his mouth. _I'm here_, he wanted to murmur. _I came home._

But before he could, Odin's eye slipped closed and Frigga _wailed_—

_No._

And all at that moment, a black sword launched from thin air and struck Thor in the side, sending him sprawling. _Oh, gods, not him too—don't take anyone else_—

A woman dressed all in black stood over Odin's body ominously, a grin stretched across her face.

* * *

...Well, I saved Frigga!


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, an update! In hindsight, I'm really not happy with the characterization I've given everyone so far. I'll do my best to remedy that.

Summary: Carol punches the goddess of death, Loki's midlife crisis continues, and I just can't let anyone be happy.

EDIT: I fixed some issues - clarifying that the battle is effectively over, fixing Hela's power issues. Hela still cannot lift Thor's hammer (the idea that she could is odd to me, because if Loki can't, Hela definitely shouldn't be able to). And some seem upset at the fate of a minor character, but sadly, that plot point stays. It'll be relevant later.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Asgard – November 12, 2013**

"He's finally gone? That's a shame, I would've liked to see that." She paused, lip curling. "Dark Elves? And Odin said they were all dead, didn't he? I suppose they are now." Roughly, she tipped one of the Elves heads to face Loki with wide, vacant eyes.

Loki stumbled to his feet—starting a fight while he was already down was unwise—and threw his bloodied hands out to his sides, summoning daggers with the motion. Frigga had not moved from where she knelt by Odin's body, seemingly in shock, and Thor had crumpled nearby, luckily not impaled but still seriously wounded.

"Who are you?" Thor asked. His voice was meek, though not for a lack of effort.

The stranger paid Thor no mind, her eyes not leaving Loki's, who had not ceased his glowering since she arrived. He had no idea what her intentions were—to cause further harm to the family, to aid the Dark Elves—but he was not willing to be caught off guard whenever she made her move. Her outfit did not lend to her being a warrior, lacking any plating and being skintight, nor to being a sorcerer (at least, to the degree of himself or Frigga), her fingers balled into fists rather than leaving her hands open to channel spells. The lack of armor told Loki that she preferred speed, believing herself too swift to need protection, and the tightness of her clothes gave her more range of motion to dance around her opponents rather than meet them head-on. Loki was so preoccupied he nearly missed the intruder's reply.

"Did Odin cover his past that well? Was he too _ashamed_ to tell Asgard's true history?" she replied. The lilt to her voice was goading, baiting.

Loki already knew Odin to be a habitual liar. He would not bite.

"_Who are you_?" he repeated his brother's inquiry with force.

"Hela. The goddess of death. Odin's firstborn."

An outrageous claim. _A lie_?

Odin lied of Loki's parentage. Who was to say he could not lie about this as well?

Loki could hear Frigga rising from behind him but did not turn, still unwilling to look away. His mother rested a gentle hand on his wrist, steadying the hand he had not realized was trembling. "My daughter," she breathed softly. "I believed you dead."

He gave in to the temptation to assess her expression. Frigga's eyes were glistening and brimming with unshed tears, a trance-like smile stuck on her face. Her voice was quiet, and she did not move to touch Hela, as if afraid to make her vanish. Hela did not match Frigga's joy.

"I see you wasted no time replacing me."

With Thor injured, Odin dead, the Aether unlocated, the entire kingdom's population locked in a mountain, and Loki's stress levels through the roof, he was feeling impatient. He narrowed his eyes. "Loki, god of mischief and fire, second son of Odin. You just stabbed my brother, Thor"—was Thor still his brother? Loki had been angry with Thor, where had that gone?—"so forgive my brevity."

Hela's smile sharpened, all angles and cruelty, pulling on her face in all the wrong ways. "I know of you, Jotun. Your gifts to my realm have been rather generous. Almost seven hundred Midgardians in one day is an impressive count—"

Blue ice, blue skin, blue eyes, blue Stone, blue in his mind—_blue, why was it all blue_? His thoughts raced and panic began to set in and his silver tongue fled, if it had ever been recovered. He was so weak, losing his senses over a mere color, allowing himself to be polluted with fear over something so small. Unworthy, unworthy. Anger twisting his features, Loki stepped over Odin to press his knife to the hollow of her throat with enough force to draw beads of blood. Her laugh dug the blade further into her skin, the rasping cackle nearly drowning out Frigga's hurried protests. Frigga pulled at Loki's elbow, but he did not allow himself to be moved.

"Hela, Loki," she said, her voice high, "we don't need to fight. I know you must be angry Hela, but you have no reason to take it out on your brothers."

Hela met Loki's narrowed, conflicted gaze. "I come to claim my birthright as queen, seeing as the king is dead and the battle is over. You'll need a strong queen to lead recovery efforts. I have no desire for peace talks unless they pertain to making me the ruler of Asgard."

Frigga must have hesitated at Loki's side, will faltering and strength fading like a dying candle. "You know I can't do that," she murmured.

A sword appeared in Hela's hand—basic conquering abilities, not necessary a seiðkonur—tilted toward Loki's midsection, but he did not lower is own blade. Before either could make a move, a streak of red and gold fire shot from the collapsed wall of the Great Hall, knocking Hela to the side and sending her crashing into a broken pillar. The goddess of death disappeared in a cloud of dust and a groan of dislodging stones, and in from the caving ceiling flew one Carol Danvers, looking disheveled and out of breath but triumphant. She blew a stray chunk of curled hair from her face and turned to Loki, grinning.

"Got her!" she crowed.

"Wow," said Loki in reply, voice dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm, "great."

"She doesn't look like the other ones."

"That would be because she isn't an Elf. She is Æsir—my sister, by technicality."

"No kidding, huh? She's kind of weaselly, I should've figured."

"I'm adopted, Danvers. We've been through this many times, thanks to your nosiness."

Hela tossed the final rock across the room with an audible snarl of rage, conjuring two obsidian swords into her hands and standing threateningly. Loki kept one dagger poised toward her, leading his stance, and one inward to guard his throat against any attacks as he moved forward, keeping himself between his family and Hela. Danvers huffed at the sight of her wasted effort and power once more haloed around her tight fists. The two were an impenetrable wall, the only line of defense protecting the distraught Frigga and the unconscious, wounded Thor from Hela's assault—and part of Loki wanted to run, to leave, to take the Stones and give them to Thanos and that part of him was blue, and the other part of him that was wanted to stay, fight, help.

He thought that part of him was dead. The part that was good.

Maybe not.

Loki allowed Hela the first move. Slipping her grip to loosely hold her sword, she flung the weapon at him, which he deflected to the side with his vambrace—the move left him open for a blow from another blade. He rolled to avoid it, regretfully taking himself off his feet, but was defended from Hela's rush by a blast from Danvers'. Springing back to his feet, Loki took up the unspoken strategy of overwhelming Hela, attacking from the right. Hela fought like him, he realized. She flipped over Danvers' blast, landing catlike to crack her elbow against the bridge of Loki's nose. He spat salty blood and got right back up to keep fighting.

Hela twirled on her heel, intent on taking them both out with one sword, but Danvers stopped her spin with a sharp punch to the face. In return, Hela snapped Loki's head back with a fierce blow to his chin and batted Danvers away easily. Loki was sent flat to his back with the force of a sword to his face, a line of hot pain shooting from under his left eye to the opposite angle of his jaw. He surged upwards in time with another swipe of her blade and twisted her wrist, but she used her momentum to flip him over her shoulder.

He huffed out a frustrated breath. Spending his already depleted magic was not something he wanted to do, but he supposed it was necessary.

Loki wove together an image of four soldiers charging in Hela and Danvers' direction. When Hela glanced away, another sword springing into her hands, Loki used the pause in the action to sweep Hela's legs from under her and knock her to the ground.

Quickly, sloppily, he touched his middle and pointer fingers together on both hands, bringing his hands together and then spreading them apart. Chains made of rock wound together in flickers of green fire and laced around Hela's wrists, ankles, and throat, tying her down. Enraged, she shouted, "_Witch_! Just like our sniveling mother, you little sh—"

Of course, no matter her abilities, she would carry the old prejudice of seiðmenn.

Loki tapped his lips with a forefinger and then clawed his hand towards his face, smirking. More stones rose from the piles of rubble and sculpted themselves together to form a muzzle that latched over Hela's jaw, silencing her before she could finish. Unabashedly grinning, he pressed his index finger to his mouth and whispered, "_Shh_."

"Nice move, Elvis," Danvers complimented smoothly.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I've _no_ idea if I should be offended by that, but as I have a mother and brother to tend to, I'll let that slide." With another gesture to mute their conversation from Hela's ears, he grew somber. "I can fix Thor. You both need to control Hela if she gets out of hand again, and she likely will. My spell was hasty and will not hold. Mother—"

Loki's voice caught on the familiar syllables and they died in his sudden silence as he met Frigga's eyes. She was still frozen, numb in shock, swaying back and forth between Thor and Odin, eyes fluttering. Loki swallowed and his jaw tightened reflexively.

"Mother, I need you to get to the people," he said slowly. "They're beneath the mountains, in the Ragnarök shelter we used to drill in. You should take Heimdall with you, in case Hela manages to follow." There was a pause, in which Frigga did not reply. "All right?"

Frigga's face expression over, the furrow in her brow vanishing and lines beside her eyes loosening. "Right," she exhaled. Quickly, hurriedly, she rushed to Loki and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head—embarrassing, and he hated physical contact, but after their shared near-death experience he supposed she could have that much. "Be safe and take care of your brother."

She nodded to Danvers. "Keep them in line."

"Yes, ma'am," Danvers grinned, earning a sharp look from Loki.

Finally, Frigga's gaze fell over Loki's shoulder and the sorrow returned to her features. "I haven't given up on you," she told Hela softly. He dropped his spell long enough to let his sister hear, although he would have rather left her completely unaware of the sentiment she had previously mocked Frigga over.

Ah, yes, Loki remembered where Thor got all his heartfelt gushing from. He hated it. Or, at least, he thought he hated it.

Without another word, Frigga's form glimmered out of sight in a shower of gold magic, leaving Loki with a flammable Midgardian, a seriously injured brother, and a homicidal sister. He was not sure if he was fit to handle this. Sighing, he figured the first course of action should be to make sure Thor did not die.

"Watch her. I'll send her back where she came from once I have the Aether," he threw over his shoulder as he stepped over the debris and—he almost choked, unable to take in air—Odin's body to crouch at Thor's feet.

Quietly, Loki stooped and raised his hand over the jagged tear beneath Thor's ribs, fingers curling as green tendrils latched onto the walls of the injury and pulled it closed, then washed the blood away in flickers of light. He cupped his brother's forehead and pressed into his slumbering mind—_awaken_, he willed. Thor came to rather gracefully, all thing considered, his prone frame racked by a shudder and his nose scrunched up. He blinked rapidly at Loki hovering above him.

"_Loki_?"

"The one and only. Up and at 'em, you have another sinister, evil, greasy sibling to take care of." Loki tapped Thor none too gently with the toe of his boot. "Danvers can tell you what to do. I'm going after the Aether."

Thor was opening his mouth to protest when Loki flickered from the room. Green light bathed Thor's chambers as Loki reappeared in the arched doorway. He staggered momentarily—blue, _blue_, another Stone to give your Father, why was the Other _still_ in his head?—before sweeping into the bedroom on shaking legs. The air was knocked from his lungs by the horrific sight laid out in front of him.

Bodies, Elf and Æsir alike, were strewn throughout the room. Clearly, it had been a battle for the Aether. And by the foot of the bed—

Oh, _no_.

Thor was going to kill Loki.

—was Jane Foster, crumpled in a heap, stiff and unmoving. Loki knelt down to search for a heartbeat. Her head turned without resistance when his fingers laced around her throat, and he bit his lip at the lack of a beat against his fingertips. He did not feel sympathy, nor remorse. Not exactly. If anything, he wanted to cry out at the waste, the lives lost to protect this mortal, all for naught. Sighing, he closed her eyes.

There _was_ something interesting about her. Red swirled just under her skin, pressing at the surface as though it struggled for release.

The Aether.

He hooked his fingers in the air over her body—I'm here, come to me—blueblue_red_— and pulled with his magic. Streams of red matter rose from each pore, from her eyes and parted lips and he wondered vaguely if he would bleed blue when his link to the Other finally severed, burning against his hand. It twisted with a life of its own the nearer it drew, dark and glimmering.

Loki only had a moment to wonder if this was a bad idea after all before the Aether slammed into his chest.

It surged over his seiðr, drowning it and burning it and fighting it—it tore him inside out, attacking his mind and almost stifling the sudden surge of blue—it blistered and scorched his skin, and he felt something give, something _snap_. There was a high, frantic noise filling his ears, which he thought could be the sounds of his own screams. Had it been this painful for her? _No_, his magic was making it so painful—red washed out his thoughts, covered the blue.

He bared his teeth.

He had not come this far just to _lose_.

With monumental effort, he cast a net of seiðr over the surging Aether. At first, he kept screaming: it still raced like fire through his veins, boiling his blood and ripping him into shreds, but it was fainter now. He shoved again. This time, the agony shuddered and spat before fizzling out entirely.

Loki braced his palms against the bloodied floor, panting audibly.

Okay. _Okay_, he could get through this. He had felt worse.

How did he stand? He shuffled his feet and reached out wildly—luckily, one hand found the bedpost and he yanked himself up. Tremors made keeping his balance a struggle.

Danvers and Thor.

Thor needed to hear about Jane.

He scanned for them with a simple spell, casting through the Great Hall. Gone. His face creased in confusion and, dare he admit it, worry.

_Keep looking._

The Vault, the guest rooms, the balconies, the courtyard. Even Frigga's gardens.

Nowhere.

Loki's seiðr landed on the Bifrost.

_There_.

Perhaps Thor was waiting to see Loki and Danvers off, wish them luck. Perhaps they were assessing the perimeter of the kingdom for damage.

Perhaps Hela had dumped their corpses for Loki to find—

Loki steadied himself on the snapped bedpost and, taking care that he is not shaking like a leaf in the wind, teleported himself to the mouth of the Observatory.

He hated it here. Loki could close his eyes and see the moment he fell from the Bifrost—the skyline of Asgard's golden glory was eclipsed by a disappointed Odin as he hung suspended over emptiness. His last sight was of Thor, his mouth open in a cry but his voice ripped away by the vacuum of space, before Loki let go and went plummeting into the starless Void. No light penetrated the dark and the only sound he could hear was an insistent roaring that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. His thoughts had been his only company, for his hands never felt a thing and his screams never met his ears, and other than longing for his mother, he wondered how many years had been lost from the time he started falling and the time he landed on Helheim itself.

_Calm, calm. Breathe in, then out. _

When his vision stopped whirling with the side effects of teleportation, Loki stepped onto the cracked, ashen bridge.

He scarcely managed to dodge the pitch blade sword that flew towards his throat and embedded itself in the golden dome behind him. "That escalated quickly," he muttered bitterly.

Hela was locked in a fierce battle with Thor and Danvers—she seemed to be having trouble deflecting Thor's lightning, rolling under Danvers' fire, ducking around Mjolnir, and avoiding Danvers' nasty uppercuts. Loki hurried into the fray, adding a blast of raw magic to Danvers' flames, which sent Hela careening toward the edge of the Bifrost. Danvers landed a hit to Hela's temple before she was socked away. Mjolnir swung into Hela's undefended shoulders, and Loki took the chance given by her stagger to return the favor of a broken nose she had given him earlier.

"Consider us even," he hissed.

"The lost boy comes running home again," Hela snarled back, lips stained red.

Loki bared his teeth in a grin of rictus spite. "I'm going to have so much fun sending you straight to Hel."

Danvers was back up and she rolled past one of Hela's blades to kick it from her hands. Hela spun, landing a clean kick across Thor's face, which momentarily stopped him mid-step. Loki landed a swipe to the back of her knee, unbalancing her, and shifted to protect Thor's side as he closed in for another attack.

"As you can see," Danvers broke in, panting, "she didn't exactly want to cooperate once your spell wore off. She said something about turning the Bifrost on the planet."

Loki grimaced. Sounded familiar. When one could not get what they wanted, annihilation was the next step. He and Hela were disgustingly similar.

Hela cut at Thor's head, but her hand was unsteadied by Loki's well-timed trip—she still slashed through his armor and left a long slash along his clavicle. She struck Loki's shattered nose, which, after learning to fight on the Sanctuary while incapacitated, did little more than make him irritated. As Danvers looped upwards to summon more fire, Hela stabbed Loki in the shoulder, nearly a killing blow. Thor swung again, sending her away from Loki with a painful tearing of her blade from his skin. Loki's magic sent her closer to the edge, and another beam of power from Danvers almost knocked her from the Bifrost entirely.

Hela's sickening, jagged smile had returned. Her feet left the Bifrost and met open space.

Loki realized too late that her hand was not empty.

Clenched in her skeletal fingers was the torn corner of Thor's cape.

"Thor!" Loki called out frantically. "_No_!"

His fingertips brushed that of his brother's—

Danvers' arms were wrapped tight around Loki's waist and all he could do was watch, breathless with horror, as his brother and sister gradually vanished into space, fighting all the way.

And just like when Loki had fallen, he could not hear Thor scream his name.

Mjolnir lay next to Loki's feet, immovable and abandoned.

* * *

Next: We finally meet more _Avengers_ characters, Loki's PTSD is properly addressed, and Carol punches even more people in the face (it's what she's best at).


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: We address the Loki's mind control, Carol has had enough, the Other rears his hideous head, and our heroes meet a talking rabbit and his friends.

Warning for mention of suicidal thoughts and reference (nongraphic) to torture).

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Outside the Tranta System - August 3, 2014**

"The East Wing of the palace has just completed reconstruction. It had half-collapsed from the broken pillars, meaning most of the ceiling had to be replaced."

Loki hummed deep in his throat, gnawing at his thumbnail and staring through Frigga's translucent illusion at the wall, his face expressionless. "And Thor?" he asked, slightly hoarse.

Her lips twisted in sympathy. "Heimdall still sees no sign of him. I'm sorry, son," she added when the lines around his eyes tightened momentarily. "He still searches, and I've tried all the tracking magic I know…although, I admit I don't know much."

_And neither do you_, went unspoken, but he heard it in the lilt of her tone. Loki brushed his fingers back and forth against his lips and swallowed. He could see Frigga watching him, but he did not meet her gaze, tracing the dents and gaps in the metal behind her as if he could not bear to look at her.

Which, in hindsight, perhaps that was truer that he would like it to be.

"I know Asgard still holds foul memories, but you can return home at your leisure," she offered hopefully. "It would be nice to see you in person."

Loki's lungs squeezed in his chest, air leaving him in a quiet exhale. He knew she must feel heartbroken, two children seemingly dead and the last a disappointment, running from his problems—from the throne, from his people, from his family. A bitter laugh choked him, and his ears rang with, "_No, Loki._" Shaking his head, he brushed a hand through Frigga's robes, dispelling the image in a wash of green light.

"_Come home_," suggested the Other. Loki pushed with his magic, and the voice fizzled into silence. The connection seemed stronger than it had before.

Loki leaned backward sluggishly, pressing all his weight into the thinly cushioned backrest of the co-pilot's chair, and let a sigh whistle out through his teeth. His thoughts ran one another in circles, a dog chasing its own tail, contributing not to his rationality but to his madness. Madness—"Is it madness? _Is it_?" Loki demanded, wondering why his eyes stung and it seemed hard to breathe—"You think this madness will end with your rule?" Thor shouted over the chaos and no, Loki knew it would not stop, but he had to do it because he had been hurt long enough and he could not think straight, and the scepter's stone was just so _loud_ and _blue_. He raked a hand through his hair and tugged forcefully. _Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop._ He just wanted to _sleep_. He had not slept in months, nightmares of the Black Order tossing Thor's dead body at Loki's feet or of Odin asking why Loki had not saved him, calling him useless and worthless and saying he should have been left to die on Jotunheim haunted him and jolted him awake nightly. Blue pulsated and throbbed in the back of his head.

It had almost been a year since Odin was killed and Thor fell (died, was murdered, was taken away). Loki could not stay for the funerals, unable to stomach the conflicting emotions warring in his chest or the thought of wandering the palace without Thor running at his heels, joking and laughing and loving. It hurt too much. So, he left with Carol, who was distracting herself from all she had witnessed by doing vigilante work in the form of the kinds of disgustingly heroic things Thor used to do, and wallowed. His grief had completely shut him down, leaving him with no motivation to move most days—sometimes, he would participate in Carol's Midgardian board games, maybe even sing along when she played guitar, but he had little drive to anything but quietly mourn and bitterly seethe.

"_Weak_," the Other chided. "_Too weak…_"

Footsteps approached from behind him, and he saw Carol flop into her chair next to him. Across the control panel, she pushed a steaming bowl of broth toward him, shoving it until the hot plastic edge was against his forearms, which were still strewn out over the array of buttons.

"Hey," she murmured. His eyes flicked to hers briefly before he looked away again. "You should eat."

His voice was brittle and detached when he replied, unable to summon the energy for a sarcastic quip. "I'm not hungry."

"You've gotta be. Come on, Loki, you need to eat. This isn't healthy."

Loki pointedly ignored her, studying his nails that he had chewed to the quick rather than acknowledging her near pleading. He has no desire to eat, because maybe if he died like he was meant to out on the frozen rocks of Jotunheim, the universe will right itself. Thor and Odin will be alive, Loki will be gone, and everyone will be better for it. Carol's desperation was sharpened by a stone of anger, and her next words were a blow from a sword.

"Thor wouldn't want you to starve—"

"_You_ wouldn't know what he would want! _I_ don't know what he would want! Because he's _dead_," Loki was all but shouting, fingers hooking into fists and danger in the set of his jaw. They stared at one another for a long moment, or perhaps for no time at all, Carol looking frustrated and Loki on the verge of punching a hole in the wall, before he slumped further into his seat and exhaled shakily.

His laugh was sudden, jumping painfully from his chest and aching as it came up, no humor within the shuddering noise. Carol regarded him expectantly, but he did not dare say what was on his mind: _it should have been me, he would be alive if I had died, maybe I _should_ die_. Other words flittered around his brain, but like rushing birds, they flew out of reach when he tried to grasp onto them. Instead, he shot her a derisive grin, sharp like glass and cutting just the same.

"It doesn't matter what a specter wants," he finished.

Carol's fingertips spat out blazing sparks, and the sight of her fearsome glare almost made Loki's malice disintegrate. "Fine. How about this?" Quick as lightning—_lightning_—she spun his swiveling chair, forcing him to look at her. "You eat because _I_ need you to. If you starve, I don't know who's going to play the spoons during our two-man concerts or play banker in Monopoly."

That was the closest to an admission of concern he was going to get.

To placate his fiery companion, Loki cradled the bowl and began to stir the lukewarm broth with one of the many filched spoons in their supply. He made no attempt to begin eating, instead asking, "Where will we dock?"

Carol scraped at the chipped paint of the lever closest to her as she scanned their coordinates. Thoughtfully, she tapped the monitor.

"Xandar, it looks like. They should let us refuel; I don't think they're hostile."

_"Not Xandar,"_ the Other breathed in Loki's ear. _"To your masters, to your father. We know you have them…. We see you." _Loki shoved upwards with his magic and felt something crackle, but the Other did not vanish as he usually did—he kept whispering. "_We're close, we're close. We almost have the Orb."_

_"Come home, _king_. You continue to cause problems. I grow weary of waiting." _

_"Stupid, _stupid_, Gamora is gone."_ The Other suddenly became frenzied inside Loki's brain and the feeling of talons hooking into his forehead, fire scorching and burning and destroying. He thought his face was buried in his palms and he might have been screaming, but he could not be sure. Everything was spinning. _"The Accuser lies—bring the Stones, Loki—you _failure_, you pathetic _runt_—"_

The bones of Loki's neck wrenched and are alight with fire. His head felt as though it was being spun all the way around and the murmuring hiss echoing in his skull is snuffed out as pain wracked his frame. Immediately, his hands flew to his throat and he gagged. A fresh electric shock of blue agony shot from the base of his skull all the way down his spine, his limbs feeling like needles were being driven into him. Something gave and tore behind his eyes.

_What is happening? _

_He knows, he knows, I have them and he knows, it _hurts_, I need Thor—_

"_Hey_!"

Carol shook Loki by his shoulders firmly. "Hey, Loki, hey!" Lightly, she slapped his cheek. "You're okay, you're okay!"

Loki's mouth hung open as he panted, gaping like a fish out of water, his fingers still clawed around the collar of his leathers. The darkness at the corners of his vision melted away and he was left staring fearfully at Carol's pinched, worried face, hovering inches from his, her lip between her teeth.

"There you go," she soothed, gently as she knew how. "Okay, just, uh…just do that, I guess." She trailed off when Loki flopped heavily against the armrest of his chair and continued to gasp.

_What just happened?_ His magic cast around in his mind. He could still feel the Mad Titan's implant in the tissue of his premotor cortex, ridged and spitting like an outraged cat at his seiðr, but he could not feel the push or force of the blue, nor hear the Other's verbal poison bouncing around in the walls of his skull. The feeling of his neck…sensation rushed back into his arms and legs just as the device fizzled and then went quiet, not even its familiar hum audible. Rubbing at his throbbing temples, Loki straightened his arched spine.

Carol tapped at his nose once more. "What was that?"

Fear and pain made his blood boil hot with anger and he forced her back into her seat, snarling. Her mouth dropped open and her brows furrowed, offended, but he stood abruptly before her tirade could begin, legs shaking so fiercely that he had to steady himself on the back of his chair. Her hand shot out to catch his wrist and he saw that her shock had morphed into frustration. Unconsciously, her skin was hot with flames against his, and his teeth bared in a defensive wince.

"_Don't_ push it. You're in my ship," Carol said firmly. Loki twisted in her grip, but she did not relent. "I'm trying to help you, but you're not going to shove me around. That wouldn't end well for you."

Her eyes were soft despite her words, and all Loki could see was Thor. Aggression spent, he untangled his arm from her fire-enveloped fingers and began to make his way unsteadily to his bunk, quivering like a newborn deer learning to walk. Sitting down heavily, he pressed the back of his head to the wall, threads of pain still weaving and smarting inside his skull.

There would not be any harm in telling her, he supposed. He did not want her to make him leave. He would have to go to Asgard and he—he could never—he _would_ never.

Loki swallowed, though his mouth was dry as sandpaper. "My connection," he huffed. "My connection to the Other—it's gone." Carol settled down by his side.

"All right, let's back up. With the _who_, exactly?"

This would take a while. "I recommend going back even further than that," he recommended, only trembling slightly. "How much have I told you about myself?"

"Other than what I saw on…what I saw a year ago? You're adopted from an ice planet, you liked turning into a snake to mess with people, and you don't like deep dish pizza. And I know you used to be one of Thanos' kids, and you did something on Earth. That's all." She made a face. "Huh, it's finally hitting me that I don't know much about you. You could be a psychopath for all I know."

Loki winced. That was close to the truth, closer than he wanted her to be. Would she kick him off her ship when he finished explaining everything? Would she hate him? Where would he go then? She must have noticed his discomfort because she raised her eyebrows wryly in his direction.

"If you are, I mean, that's cool," she restated. "I wish you'd brought that up before I agreed to bunk with you, but…"

His expression remained serious and her attempts at teasing quietened before dying altogether, once again seeming anxious. And she looked so much like Thor at that moment—his heart fluttered in his chest seeing her gentle gaze, the blonde hair tucked behind her ear, the weight of her hand on his shoulder—that he splintered and broke. He told her all he could muster the courage to: Thor's botched coronation, the ill-fated journey to Jotunheim, confronting Odin over his origins and becoming Asgard's unwanted king, sending the Destroyer to Midgard and slaying Laufey in Odin's bedchambers, fighting with Thor (omitting the attempted genocide of the Jotnar) and falling willingly into the Void. The next portion took more effort to tell: Thanos, the torture, how the scepter turned what he wanted deep down into a sickening ambition, downplaying his attack on New York City, leaving before he could face justice with the Tesseract.

To her credit, Carol had let him speak without interruption. He faltered toward the end and shrugged one shoulder in a parody of nonchalance.

"Then I met you," he finished, somewhat anticlimactic and awkward.

Silence settled between them momentarily, stifling the air, and Loki had to wonder if she truly would make him leave. If she hated him now, that would be fair. Fine. He did not know how to feel about what he had done—he was not entirely blameless, not entirely guilt-ridden, just hollow.

Loki would miss stealing her GameBoy and intentionally trying to ruin her games beyond playability. He would miss making fun of the lyrics to her songs, yet still finding enough good-natured humor to sing along. He would miss bewildering her in Scrabble by using words from languages all over the galaxy, debating what counted for points and dodging the letter tiles she would aim at his forehead. He would miss showing her magic, making butterflies fan from his palm and laughing when she tried—and, of course, failed—to touch them.

The level of attachment, of comfort made his skin itch with discomfort.

But before she could answer, a rough, chilling voice wrenched past his wards and slipped into his ears poisonously. "_Running is not wise, son._"

"Loki?" he heard Carol ask urgently, faintly. "Loki—"

"Get _out_, get out, get out!" Loki screamed. Thanos was here, he was in his head, digging and upturning and he knew about the Stones and Loki…Loki could not _breathe_.

Thanos' laugh scraped up Loki's spine. "_You've done well, little one. Two is an accomplishment._"

Loki had been relieved that the Other was gone. Now, he knew there was a possibility of much worse. His master's—no, not a master—agony set every inch of his body alight and _yes_, master, anything—growls came to a crescendo of icy fury. "_Bring them to me. You know what awaits if you do not. _Bring them_ to me._"

His vision blackened and he could feel his control slipping, just as it did on Midgard. The implant flared behind his eyes. With what little awareness he had left, he gritted out, "Hit me. Please."

Carol was scarcely audible through Thanos' shouting, her form barely visible through the cerulean haze setting in. "Are you sure?" he thought she asked.

_Yes_, he tried to call, _yes, just do it_, but nothing escaped him except for a rumbling laugh. It shook in his ribs, rising from the depths like a wild animal, octaves deeper than his usual tones. He needed to get Thanos out. He needed him out. Why did the connection suddenly strengthen? What happened for Thanos to try and reel him back in now? Questions seared; questions were unnecessary to his mission—

Something cracked against his temple, halting his racing thoughts, and he was out before he hit the floor.

* * *

**August 5**

"I thought I killed you," Carol confessed anxiously as she marked a miss on her board at A4. Loki glanced up to make sure she was focused on her own side, then shifted his ship two spaces to the left.

"Speaking from experience, it'll take more than that. I'm surprised that you even managed to knock me unconscious for over an hour, much less nearly two days," he replied. Pausing to think, he asked, "H7?"

"Hit."

He made note with a red peg. "…Thank you. For the, ah…cognitive recalibration."

She grinned over her board. "Loki saying _thank you_? You sure you aren't still possessed?"

Loki flicked a white peg at her, snickering when it popped her squarely on the tip of her nose. She threw one back, and his hands flew to his eye with a squawk of protest. Ignoring his fluent Kree cursing, she checked her grid.

"F10?"

"Ooh," Loki exhaled, smiling evilly, "so close. Another miss."

Carol propped her head in her palm and huffed. She pressed another white marker into place. After a brief moment of quiet, her lips thinned, and she fixed him with a stare. "You're cheating."

"Nice deduction skills," Loki reported in a dry, mocking rendition of childish praise. This time, it's a little plastic boat that flies at his face. In the time he spent ducking away and hurling it back with magic, she had risen to her feet to check their blinking coordinates, able to see the steely blue planet before their ship. She tapped the monitor.

"ETA is four hours," she announced over her shoulder. With that, she settled into her chair and pulled her guitar from the storage compartment, waving a hand to invite him over. Loki gladly obliged her.

He groaned as soon as her fingers started strumming.

"_Load up on guns, bring your friends; it's fun to lose and to pretend_—"

Loki drummed his fingers on the armrest. "I don't like this one."

"I don't care," she told him brightly. "_She's over-bored and self-assured—oh no, I know a dirty word_."

She let the song fade out and watched him expectantly. Oh, right. Back noise was Loki's job in this one. With a long-suffering sigh, he began, "_Hello, hello, hello, how low_…"

They carried on for a while, entertaining themselves with songs and even pulling out a game of Twister ("How can you turn like that? Your face is beside your ankles!" Loki grinned evilly and replied, "Talent.") Loki was playing _how many ducks conjured via magic does it take to fill Carol's bed_ when she crowed from her position near the control panel, "All right, here we are!" The ship rocked and jostled when it landed, breaking Loki's concentration and sending the flock of ducks out of view in sparks of green. Carol flipped off the thrusters and pressed the button to open the door. Loki exited, squinting up at the sky.

It had been years and years since Loki had set foot on Xandar, having last visited on a diplomatic mission with Odin and Thor (the thought hurt, so he quickly abandoned it). They had touched down on one of the cityscape's many landing pads, adjacent to what appeared to be a storage for warships. Loki led the way down the ramp and toward the town square. Greenery—foreign flowers, neatly trimmed hedges, spindly trees—and pools of gushing water decorated the square, which was populated by roaming citizens, parents with small children going into shops and older couples on strolls, among other sorts of people.

Carol hurried along and fell into step with Loki, a feat considering how much longer his legs were than hers. "Nice place," she commented.

"They won't mind. Xandar isn't very strict when it comes to outsiders docking," Loki answered. He politely pushed past a young girl and her mother. "I doubt anyone will recognize me."

He glanced about anxiously, then lowered his voice to continue. "Thanos does not have a price upon my head yet. I expect he's currently trying to keep his search for the Stones quiet."

"I wouldn't let anyone take you," Carol reassured, bumping her hip into his, sending him stumbling. "You're a malicious, weaselly snob, but you're _my_ malicious, weaselly snob."

"I'm…honored?"

Looking away from his companion's laughing smile, Loki faltered. Half of the city appeared to have been leveled, debris scattered everywhere, vegetation and ground charred, wisps of smoke still unfurling into the bright blue sky. His lips parted with disbelief. This had to be recent, within the week by the lingering ash. He could only remember Asgard, ablaze and in ruin, and a shudder crawled through his frame.

"Looks like we missed a party," Carol winced. She would have continued, had she not tripped. Arms shooting to Loki's elbow, she nearly brought him down with her in an attempt to steady herself.

Loki mumbled his displeasure, only for his voice to fade out at the sight of what Carol had fallen over. Sprawled on the ground was a Midgardian animal—a raccoon, Loki guessed—dressed in leather and armor, scowling and peering up at them.

"Watch where you're going, lady!" it spat.

Carol reeled, eyes wide. "You can talk?"

It sat up and flattened its ears irately. "You can talk? With that last question, I figured you were an idiot." Shooting Loki a glare, it hissed, "Do I have something on my face, greasy?"

Loki curled his lip. A retort on his tongue, he paused when he heard someone call out, "Rocket? C'mon, leave the nice strangers alone."

Approaching was a sandy-haired man in a Ravagers red jacket, exasperated, with a green-skinned woman dogging at his heels. She—

Loki's breath stuck in his throat.

She—

Loki shoved Carol behind him, ignoring her surprised cry, and his hands shot out to his sides, calling his daggers into his grip. Gamora must have recognized him as well because she stopped mid-step, mouth dropping open and eyebrows knitting together. She wiped her face of any expression and walked forward—

She was planning to attack him.

"_You_," Loki's voice wavered, but it was cold and deep nonetheless, "you stay _away_."

"Loki—" Carol tried to say.

"Loki—" he heard from Gamora.

He could remember being pounded mercilessly into the dirt, blood blinding him and burning against his tongue, arms trembling too fiercely to push himself up. He could remember her watching him, no remorse detectable, and sweeping from the room to let Ebony Maw drag Loki to his feet. "You failed again, but with a few upgrades, we can fix that."

And Loki begged, he called for his family, he cursed and he spat and he fought, and someone pushed a chip into his skull and ripped something from his chest—

Before he knew it, Loki had leaped over the raccoon to pin Gamora on the edge of the fountain, one dagger at her neck and one guarding his own vital abdomen. "I'm not going back," he snarled, blades shaking. "I'll kill you if I have to. You can kill me, but the Stones will be gone forever. What will your father do then?"

"Hey, man!" the Ravanger shouted. He flew to Gamora's side and tried to push Loki's knives back, but his grip was unyielding. "Hands off! I don't know what your deal is…"

"It's okay, Peter," Gamora told him. She sounded so calm—Loki could scarcely see, he was shuddering so violently. "Brother—"

"I'm _not_ your brother. I'm _not_ his son. I have a family."

_My family never came for me._

His jaw tightened when he saw Carol's shadow eclipse Gamora's figure, and by the rush of hot air on his right, he knew her fists were alight. She said nothing, silently supporting Loki. Gamora swallowed.

"Loki," she tried again, "I know I hurt you, and I know I can't do anything to make up for it. But don't take it out on my friends. I'm not with Thanos anymore."

The sound of the Mad Titan's name made Loki flinch. "You can't prove that. I can't forgive you. I have an _implant_ in my _head_—he can see what I see, hear what I hear, he knows what I'm thinking and he can _twist_ it. He…he took…" Words failed as panic overtook him.

"I don't expect you to believe me or to take an apology. If you need to kill me, I won't stop you. Just don't bring Peter or Rocket into this."

_Kill me._ She would let him kill her. He could not hold his hands still. He could not get enough air.

Loki did not have the strength to keep holding his knife to her throat, letting his hand dangle uselessly, limply at his side. Carol held onto his shoulder and the man moved between Loki and Gamora.

"Okay, I feel like this is a long story," he said, trying and failing to sound soothing. "Maybe we should all just chill out and get a few drinks? Try not to kill one another?"

The raccoon jumped onto the fountain, fur standing on end and looking angrily at Loki, who was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He did not want to be near her for another second. He hated her, he hated her. He was _frightened_.

Carol regarded his expression and squeezed his wrist. "We'll try that. Okay, Loki?"

He nodded jerkily. He should have stayed in Asgard, he should have stayed on Migard. He could not go back to Thanos. He would rather die, why could he not die? A new voice startled the group into whirling around.

"Did I miss something important?" asked the new man, shirtless and gray-skinned, holding a bag of what appeared to be Midgardian potato chips.

Gamora groaned loudly.

* * *

Next: The group begins to mingle, we talk Infinity Stones, and Loki finally talks to Gamora.


	7. An Ending

Hi, lovely people!

As I'm sure you've noticed, I haven't updated in over a year. My fixations have moved on to other things and I don't write for the _Avengers_ anymore, but I'm still proud of the style and prose of this story and I want to give you all a proper conclusion. I've included a summary of what would have been the next 10-15 chapters, as well as a few of the scenes I had drafted out. I hope this will suffice and draw this to a decent close!

**Chapter Seven**

Loki tapped aggravatedly on the sides of his bottle, not making any move to drink it, as Carol handled the polite conversation—_where are you all from, how are you liking Xandar? _Just gouge his eyes out with a dull spoon already, for Norns' sake. After he had to bat Rocket away from his gold-plated vambrace for what must have been the thirteenth time, Carol shifted topics to the elephant in the room.

"So," she says, swirling her drink slowly, "how do you know Loki, Gamora?"

Great. Loki threw back his akevitt and pushed his now empty bottle to the edge of the table for a refill. He would need to get drunk for this.

Gamora seemed equally reluctant to reply. "We would need to be somewhere more private," she excused, but Loki gestured with one hand to the surrounding pub.

"No need. They all hear us discussing paleomagnetism in Klingonese."

"And you're sure no one will understand that?" Gamora asked seriously.

Loki grinned, wry and sharp, exchanging a knowing look with Carol and Quill, whose face had suddenly lit up. "Oh, quite certain."

With that matter settled, Gamora scrapped her thumbnail along the grain of the wood and began to speak, leaning close to Quill. "I was raised as Thanos' daughter," she explained, eyes fixated on the amber liquid in her glass. "He took me from my planet when I was young, after he murdered half of my people. For years, he trained me to be an assassin and do his dirty work. Sometimes, he would leave and come back with a new child—a sibling, he would tell me, and all of them were twisted to fill a role like I was. There was only one time someone found _us_ instead."

Her gaze lifted to meet Loki's, who, despite his shaking, had not reacted to her words. She continued, softer than before.

"Thanos knew he had to have a son of Odin"—Loki's fingers hooked into his palms—"a master of magic. I…I can't tell you anything else. It isn't my place."

Carol tipped her head towards Loki and pressed her shoulder to his in reassurance. He was grateful for the warmth, for the grounding touch. He snatched her shot glass from her hand, ignoring her yelp of protest, and drowned Ebony Maw's smile with a gulp of whiskey. Quill and Rocket stayed tactfully silent, but Drax did not seem to grasp the gravity of the situation.

"So, what next?"

"Dude, really?" Quill sputtered.

"Even for me, that subtext was obvious," Rocket added, ears flat.

That was Loki's cue to leave. He was _not_ going to blubber out his woes to a known associate of his torturer and a group of dunderheads. Wordlessly, he swung his legs into the aisle and picked his way through the swaying crowd towards the bar, where he settled and tapped the counter in front of him.

"Give me something that could knock the Abilisk into a coma," Loki demanded.

The bartender, a purple-eyed Xandarian with a resting scowl curling his lips, poured up a tall glass of something that shone like rainwater and stunk like rubbing alcohol. Without further questioning, Loki took a hearty gulp—it tasted of nothing and seared across his tongue, and he found that he liked the sting. The chatter at his back murmured into white noise as he lost himself in the burning drink and the spirals of the neon-lit décor, trying to wipe the Other's hissing from his mind.

If Thor were here (_if Thor was still alive_), he would have chased Loki down, set on cheering him up. He sees a lot of Thor in Carol—the warmth, the loyalty, the heroism. Which is why Loki is not surprised when Carol slides onto the empty barstool next to him.

* * *

Chapter Seven would have explored the Guardians entering an alliance with Loki and Carol.

Now, the following events were where the story became murky, but this is the major part-Earth is falling to Ultron. Without Thor's lightning, Vision is never made. Carol is summoned by Fury's distress call, and despite Loki's protests, the two of them head to Earth with the Guardians in tow. This is enough to turn the tides of the battle, but none of the Avengers completely trust Loki or his allies. He tells them about Thor and reluctantly about the Infinity Stones, agreeing to give up the Tesseract for safe-keeping. The space crew is preparing to leave, but with the Sokovia Accords comes the cry for justice against Loki.

As the Avengers split to fight, Loki is taken and detained-Carol breaks him out and they flee back into the Galaxy. Things get a bit murky here, but it's important to note that the timeline is accelerated and events are happening much closer together. As Carol is doing vigilante work, they receive a distress signal from a planet called Sakaar. Upon arrival, they find that Hela has joined the Grandmaster in a reign of terror, and they also discover Thor alive. Bruce is there, too, as in canon. Carol and Loki deal with the Sakaar drama, leaving with Thor, Bruce, and Valkyrie in tow, and return to Asgard for a reunion. Heimdall gives word that Thanos has made a move on Xandar and is coming for Asgard to find Loki and the Reality Stone next.

The group hurries to Midgard to warn the people of Earth and to get more help in protecting the Stones, which is a mistake. Now all of Thanos' targets are in one spot. Infinity War happens about the same, but the difference really comes with who is Snapped.

**Who Survives the Snap?**

1\. Iron Man/Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr) - Lives

2\. Bruce Banner/Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) - Lives

3\. Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) - Lives

4\. Loki (Tom Hiddleston) - Lives

5\. Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) - Dies

6\. Thor (Chris Hemsworth) - Dies

7\. Clint Barton/Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) - Lives

8\. Peter Quill/Star-Lord (Chris Pratt) - Dies

9\. Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch (Elizabeth Olsen) - Lives

10\. Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier (Sebastian Stan) - Lives

11\. Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) - Lives

12\. Vision (Paul Bettany) - Dies

13\. Maria Hill (Cobie Smulders) - Dies

14\. Wong (Benedict Wong) - Dies

15\. Gamora (Zoe Saldana) - Been dead (Soul Stone)

16\. Nebula (Karen Gillan) - Lives

17\. Groot (Vin Diesel) - Dies

18\. Drax the Destroyer (Dave Bautista) - Dies

19\. Rocket (Bradley Cooper) - Dies

20\. Mantis (Pom Klementieff) - Lives

21\. Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tom Holland) - Lives

22\. Sam Wilson/Falcon (Anthony Mackie) - Lives

23\. T'Challa/Black Panther (Chadwick Boseman) - Dies

24\. Okoye (Danai Gurira) - Dies

25\. Scott Lang/Ant-Man (Paul Rudd) - Dies

26\. Hope van Dyke/Wasp (Evangeline Lily) - Lives

27\. James "Rhodey" Rhodes/War Machine (Don Cheadle) - Dies

28\. Shuri (Letitia Wright) - Lives

29\. M'Baku (Winston Duke) - Dies

30\. Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) - Lives

31\. Queen Frigga (Rene Russo) - Dies

* * *

From here, we proceed mostly as usual: Thanos has destroyed the Stones. The team dawdles for awhile-Loki has returned to Asgard to pick up the pieces as the King and Carol leaves to help restore order throughout the galaxy. However, the time travel revelation occurs much quicker, without Scott trapped in the Quantum Realm. Hope tracks down the Avengers to propose the idea, and they gather their team with Bruce and Shuri running point on the technology. Loki is reluctant to leave his people, but...he wants his family back so badly.

The teams would have divided to get the Stones, with Loki, Carol, Clint, and Natasha going for the Soul Stone. Carol sacrifices herself for the Stone.

**The Vormir Scene:**

The mountaintop of Vormir was shadowed with storm clouds and bathed in the faint red light of the dying sun, darkening horizon hidden by the snowflakes whipping through the harsh, chilled landscape. Loki's skin crawled as memories of Jotunheim—the pale skin of his hand bleeding to blue, looking up with wide eyes to see his brother mercilessly slaughtering the monsters that Loki is suddenly one of, grinning and joking all the way, and he had to wonder if Thor would murder him too if he knew what Loki was—rose to the surface of his mind, but he shoved his unease, his fear aside. He was here for a reason, for a mission, and he would complete it. Carol must have seen his steps falter and noticed his fingers picking anxiously at his left hand because she took his wrist and gave him a tight smile. He returned it to the best of his ability.

Clint and Natasha walked ahead to survey the cliff face and the brutal drop into the valley below. Loki peered down, wincing. A fall from this height was not survivable for any species, mortal or otherwise…although, he was beginning to have a sickening suspicion that death was the ultimate purpose of this place. A whisper, a rustle of a cloak sent the group whirling on their heels.

Two blades slipped into Loki's grip and he took up a defensive posture, right knife leading and the other coming to guard his throat against a lunge. As Natasha clicked the safety of her pistol off and Clint drew his sword to hold in high over his shoulder, Carol's fists flared to life with sparking fire, illuminating the horrific face of the intruder. His red skin was stretched taut over skeletal bones, dull eyes sunken deep into his skull and his nose a mere crater. A black cloak hid the rest of his form from view.

There was something _off_ about this man. The sight of him put a lump in Loki's throat, his stomach growing cold and still with the feeling of anticipation and apprehension—the feeling that something was about to happen, a storm was about to break.

"Welcome," the guardian rattle, his voice rough and echoing, "Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith." His lifeless gaze flickered over to meet Loki's. "Loki, son of Odin, blood of Laufey. Carol, daughter of Joseph."

Loki's grip on his daggers did not loosen—if anything, his hold strengthened, the man's startlingly correct information making Loki more nervous, not that he would ever admit it—but he saw, from the corner of his eye, Natasha wince, her brows drawing closer together and lips parting. Surprise, confusion. Clint's sword stayed where it was, pointed directly at the space between the man's eyes.

"How do you know us?" Clint asked steadily.

"I am cursed to know all who come to this place. You have come for the stone. Be warned: it demands a terrible price."

Loki spared Carol a glance. There was a sudden wariness to her, a sudden vanishing of all her fight. She returned his look, almost worriedly. Throat convulsing as he swallowed, Loki spoke up.

"We are ready," he answered. "Name the consequence."

"You should know, former child of Thanos," the guardian said. He had no reaction to Loki's abrupt flinch, a spasm that shook his entire frame like an electric shock. "What you seek lies in front of you."

Natasha holstered her gun and paced to the edge of the cliff. "The Stone's down there," she realized.

Carol joined her, toes dangling over the drop, and turned back to Loki and Clint. "It sounds easy enough," she said. "I'll fly down and get it."

"_No_."

Loki surprised even himself by speaking, though his voice wavered and cracked. He tried again. "No. I…I understand now. A soul for a soul. To get the Stone, one of us has to die."

Horror stifled the air as a mournful quiet set over the group. Clint stared at Loki, shuddering breath billowing from his wide-open mouth like smoke, expression drawn in anger, in hurt, in disbelief. Natasha sat heavily on a nearby rock and pressed her elbows into her knees, saying nothing. Carol whispered Loki's name shakily, her hands slipping into his.

Loki could see the snow gathering on her dark eyelashes, freckling her golden curls and settling on her shoulders. He looked away, feeling choked and constricted and hating the helplessness that held him down like shackles.

"You're sure?" Carol whispered. "There's nothing we can do to get around it?"

"I don't think so." His grin pulled his face in all the wrong ways, wry and cruel in his pain. "I'm fresh out of tricks for this one. If you've any ideas, by all means, go ahead."

Briefly, Loki wondered if they could use the Stone and return it, reclaiming what they lost, but he doubted it: the Stone demanded a soul for its use, and even after they have returned it, they will still have used it. He sighed. From behind where Loki and Carol stood, Natasha and Clint were audibly bickering, debating as to who should jump. Loki felt dizzy with relief—if Clint or Natasha were to jump, then Carol and Loki would both leave with their lives. His hands tightened on hers.

"It won't be either of us," Loki said softly. "I—" _I won't let you die_, he wanted to say, but the words died on his tongue and he could not find the will to speak again.

Carol smiled, and this time, it was genuine. "You can be a stuck-up, self-centered, manipulative jerk. But you're my friend, Elvis."

"Thanks," Loki replied, managing to force his usual dry sarcasm, getting a quiet laugh out of Carol. "You…you're…I don't want to lose you."

That was the closest to a, "_you're my friend, too, I love you, please don't go_" that she was ever going to get from him. She ruffled his greased hair and let him slip his hands from hers to approach Clint and Natasha, where they were saying their goodbyes by the snow-tipped rocks.

Clint pulled away from where he had been leaning his forehead against Natasha's, looking determined once more. "It's got to be one of us," he exhaled to her. "Thor's already dead and Carol doesn't have anyone here."

Loki almost pitied him, but relief stifled every other emotion and filled his veins—he would not lose anyone else. The wind seemed to flow with more ferocity, snowflakes now falling at blinding speed, washing the landscape in bleak flashes of white. He caught his lip between his teeth, still able to feel the guardian watching them with baleful eyes. _Give us all a moment_, Loki urged silently. Goodbyes always felt too brief, too sudden, too fast—no matter how long they truly lasted, he thought, closing his eyes against the memory of Thor slowly fading in his arms, each moment lasting for eternity and only an instant all at once.

Suddenly missing Carol by his side as an anchor, a wordless reassurance, Loki turned to seek her out but found himself alone. He looked further down the mountain but could not see her familiar silhouette. His blood ran cold and he felt light-headed.

"Carol?" Loki called out, whirling to face the cliff.

Carol stood on the edge, staring into the valley, but looked back to smile at the sound of Loki's voice. "You said to go ahead," she replied, the tears in her eyes not projecting into her voice.

"_No_!" Loki cried out. "_Wait_—"

She stepped off the edge.

Loki cleared the walk between the rocks and the fall within moments and wasted no time leaping after her. Natasha yelped his name—Loki only had eyes for Carol, who was still plummeting through the darkness and the ice and he called for her again, high and frantic—_not her, not her too_. He stretched out his hand, fingers catching on mist and he screamed—_there has to be another way_—

_Whatever it takes_, Carol had said.

The world went black before Loki could hit the ground.

* * *

The rest of what happens in unchanged: they return to the present, Bruce snaps using the Gauntlet, and Thanos follows them to attack the Compound. Everyone emerges from the portals in the same fashion as before.

**The Portals Scene:**

As barks of, "Yibambe!" swept up the Wakandan soldiers with the force and ferocity of a tidal wave, Loki beat Gungnir against the ground and raised it high above his head as the aftershock ripped through the AEsir ranks. "Odin eier dere alle!" he shouted.

Crying out as one in voices like the bellowing thunder of a summer storm, the AEsir echoed, "Odin eier dere alle!"

Loki slammed his spear against the dirt once more and hefted it to the sky. "_Odin eier dere alle_!" he roared.

"_Odin eier dere alle_!" The army lifted their weapons, but not even the ring of metal being unsheathed and feet stamping in time with the words could overpower the strength of their cries.

A stillness settled over the group, a pause in which Loki curled the fingers of his free hand into a claw and swept back his hair, helmet shimmering into place at his touch and cape solidifying to swirl behind him as his hand dropped back to his side. He took a deep breath and, slowly, threateningly, lowered Gungnir to level it at Thanos' swelling ranks, the sharp edge of the spear pointed straight between the Mad Titan's eyes.

"_Til Valhall_!"

With that, Loki—son of Odin and Frigga, brother of Thor, god of mischief and fire, the King of Asgard—charged, Valkyrie soaring out in front of him atop her Pegasus and the AEsir following in Loki's footsteps, their shouts coming to crescendo into one monumental roar. And when the two armies met, the Earth split and the sky shook, and all the world knew that Ragnarök was upon them.

* * *

Thor doesn't arrive with the rest of the resurrected characters, which worries Loki, but Thor appears in a flash of lightning to blast Thanos' mothership out of the sky.

**Thor's Return**

"Someone needs to take those ships down!" Loki heard Rogers shout over the pandemonium.

Loki might have sent a blast of magic in the direction of the ominous warcrafts that shot fire like rain from above, but one volley destroyed the dam holding back the churning, gray sea and a rush of water arched over the sky, eclipsing the already dim sun. Reaching for his seidr, Loki tugged and summoned the Casket of Ancient Winters into his hands. The pale skin of his fingers bled into bright sapphire, markings proclaiming his true name to be Laufeyson carving dark blue along his flesh, but he paid the change in hue no mind—an eruption of frost and ice surged from the Casket, veining its way along the shaking ground and racing up the water. Within seconds, the entire wave had crystallized into a translucent wall of ice and Loki banished the artifact away into his stores, able to feel his Jotun horns recede into his scalp and blinking his eyes back to green as Doctor Strange threw him an incredulous look.

"I had that," he protested sharply.

Loki grinned, a slash of white across his dark, still half-cerulean face. "I'm _certain_ would have thrown beautiful balloon animals at it until it succumbed to your might."

Another blast shot down toward the pair and Loki's hastily formed, reflexive shield was reduced to flickering green shards upon impact. Loki winced as he felt his magic writhe in his chest. "Could someone get on that previous request?" he called over the damaged intercom system, hand pressed to his ear. "I would, but I'm nearly spent hiding the Gauntlet."

Suddenly, the dark funnel clouds parted, and lightning speared down to pierce the Earth, thunder rattling the air and the stifling scent of ozone overwhelming Loki's senses. One ship went down to a comet made of electricity that ripped straight through its hull—the next fell soon after, struck from the sky by a bolt of crackling lightning—by the decimation of the third ship, everyone, Avenger and Chitauri alike, stopped dead to look up. Loki pressed one hand to his mouth. Could it—was that—?

Mjolnir shot from Captain Rogers' hand upward, rising into the heart of the destruction, where it was caught in a surge of electricity and power by—

"Thor!" Loki called. He spun to face Strange, excitement coloring the first genuine smile to grace his features in years.

"You guys are so screwed now!" Banner shouted in a crackle of static over the coms.

* * *

The battle proceeds, but this time with Steve snapping away Thanos and his army rather than Tony.

We would conclude with Thor, Loki, and Frigga preparing to return to Asgard after Steve's funeral. However, looking at the New Avengers and thinking of his friend Carol, Loki tells his mother and Thor that he'll come back to visit, but for now, he wants to help here. He's free for the first time in years-of Odin, of Thanos, of fear and anxiety. The sun is shining on his face as he watches his family leaves and turns to join his new one.

* * *

So, that's what I had originally wanted to write! If you came back to see this through, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This story was born from a love for these movies and a desire to tell my own stories with them, and you all gave me a platform for that.

Lots of love to you all! This is goodbye-I'll miss you!


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